


All About Thorin

by jaydee09



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Centred on Thorin, F/M, Family Saga, Friendship, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Relationships across the Divide, Romance, Some Explicit Sexual Content, The Jealousy of Dwarves, Thorin doesn't die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:05:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 74
Words: 451,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At his forge in Ered Luin, before the Quest, Thorin meets an irritating female elf who later comes back to haunt him.  After the Battle of the Five Armies, he returns to his forge with the elf in tow.  Epic, over-arcing story-line but every chapter is an individual story, designed to provoke a smile and an occasional tear. Deals with: marriage, birth, death, sexual problems, babies, children, teenagers, adoption, friendship, sexism, racism, dwarfism, elfism, jobs, foreign travel, pets, jealousy, painting and decorating - oh, everything, really!  And all my stories revolve around Thorin: sexy, growling, stubborn, bad-tempered, but totally adorable.<br/>LOOK FOR CHP 74!  FIRST NEW STORY POSTED IN 2/3 YEARS AT A READER'S REQUEST: THORIN AND THE HEATWAVE!</p><p>EVERY STORY CAN BE READ AS A STANDALONE.</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thorin has a Bad Day

All About Thorin  
1.Thorin has a Bad Day  
Pt 1

Ploughshares, cart rims, boxes of nails: the drudgery of the anvil. Nothing beautiful; nothing made of gold; nothing studded with precious stones. Nothing, in fact, that lifted the heart or demanded creativity or made him glad to be a smith. How many dreary years had it been since Smaug drove the dwarves from Erebor and he had brought his people to the Blue Mountains of Ered Luin? He had lost count. 

But, this evening, Thorin still laboured at his forge, and he laboured with pleasure. It had been a long time since he had made a sword, and, with a sigh, he examined his finished work. What had started out as six separate rods of steel had now been forced into one perfect, shining piece of metal, the pattern welding leaving a beautiful tracery that flowed down the blade like a rippling river. 

His father, Thrain, had once said that wrought gold created gold but he couldn’t remember the last time that he had been asked to make a beautiful piece of jewellery. Instead, he worked with iron –and iron created only a livelihood and not a fortune. All the achingly precious and beautiful things that he and his father and his father’s father had forged and made down the long years were now the possessions of the dragon, Smaug, stolen from his family and his kin.

So much had been lost that day when the dragon came: his home, his treasure, his inheritance and many, many comrades, burned and trampled upon and killed before they could escape from their great halls deep in the Lonely Mountain. His grandfather, Thror, was dead, butchered by Azog and his orcs; Thrain had disappeared and now Thorin was left to eke out a living at his forge in the foothills of Ered Luin, dreaming all the time of a return from exile, the destruction of Smaug and the reclaiming of his kingdom.

He sighed and pulled free the rag that held back his long, dark hair so that the black locks fell in a heavy mass down onto his powerful shoulders, framing his strong, harsh features. He came to the door of his forge and paused there a while, breathing in the cool evening air and gazing up at the twilight beauty of the Blue Mountains. He felt weary today, both with the long hours of work and with his life that seemed to stretch endlessly before him, useless and empty. The forge was attached to a small, one-roomed hall - Thorin’s Hall, the locals grandly called it - but it was little more than a hut with a central stone fireplace, a home that was substantially different both in style and size from the grandeur of the ancestral halls of Erebor that he had known as a child. However, it was conveniently positioned at a crossroads, handy for passing trade and a number of scattered farmsteads. It was lonely here but also quiet, a place where he could think and brood.

He realised he was hungry and was about to move towards the house when he heard the sound of hooves approaching down the lane. As he listened to the slow clip-clop, he recognised, with a tired and sinking heart, that the horse had lost a shoe. Just what he needed when all he wanted was a quick bite to eat and to fall into bed.

As the horse came into view from behind the bushes and trees, he saw his guess had been correct because its rider was walking by its side and the beast appeared to be limping slightly. As they drew closer, his heart sank even further. An elf! This was going to be a bad end to what had been a satisfying day, he thought. His brows drew together in a glower and he folded his arms across his broad chest, leaning back against the door jamb.

Tauriel was relieved when she saw the forge at last. She had passed this way on her outward journey and remembered that there was a smith at the crossroads. A dwarf, of course, but beggars can’t be choosers, she thought, and after walking for miles, she couldn’t be fussy over who shod the horse as long as they did a decent job.

She could see him now, leaning against the entrance to the forge, and looking none too pleased to see her either. She told herself to keep her tongue between her teeth and not to offend him if she wanted the job done. But there was no love lost between the two races and she hoped that this wasn’t going to prove too difficult a task.

As she got a good view of him, she felt a little startled. He was surprisingly tall for a dwarf and his muscled torso made him look even bigger. He wore a dirty singlet under a leather apron; his powerful arms were folded across his chest and his posture was aggressive and unwelcoming. She also noted that, although his hair was long and braided before the ears in the style that many dwarves adopted, his beard was unusually short. He looks very arrogant, she thought. This is going to be really difficult.

As he got a good view of her, he felt a little startled. This elf was a woman. She was dressed in men’s clothing but she also carried a long, elegant bow on one shoulder and a quiver of arrows whilst he could see the pommels of a pair of long, killing knives poking out from behind her back.  
She must be a female warrior. They existed, just as some dwarven women chose to fight but this was the first time he had seen one. In fact, he had never seen an elf of either sex fight. During the dwarf and goblin wars that had been incited by the death of Thror, the elves had refused to come to their aid. His brother had been killed during one dreadful battle fought before the Gates of Moria and he had never forgiven the elves for their failure to help. His glower deepened. She looks very arrogant, he thought. This is going to be really difficult.

“Your horse has lost a shoe,” he said brusquely. This was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I need you to fix it now,” she replied, her tone sharp and none too polite.

He looked at her but didn’t answer. Instead, he led her horse to a tethering rail and then disappeared into the forge to collect his tools.

She watched him in silence for a while as he worked efficiently at replacing the shoe. He handled the horse gently and his large hands stroked its flanks whilst he murmured softly to it now and again. Tauriel was surprised at how calmly her horse stood there. It had a bad temper and she had been secretly hoping that it would give the dwarf a nip. She needed a laugh. When nothing like that was obviously going to happen, she searched elsewhere for her amusement, casually examining the inside of the forge, then wandering around outside and idly peering through the open front door of the hall. She was amused at how neatly everything was kept and she tried to imagine the hulking smith – and a dwarf at that – sweeping his floors, making the bed and washing up his dishes. Her lips twitched with a little smile at the thought of this strapping man doing such homely tasks. But, there again, she thought, there doesn’t appear to be anyone else to do it for him.

Thorin was fuming as he worked on the shoe. He tried to remain calm so as not to spook the horse but it was getting more and more difficult. How dare she poke around in his home as if she owned the place? First of all, she had had a good look at his forge and now she was even peering through his front door. And NOW she was laughing at him! He wanted to ask her what it was she found so amusing, but he bit his tongue. She’d be gone soon and he would never have to look at her again. 

Actually, he thought, he didn’t mind looking at her. She was quite striking – for an elf. Not so tall as to tower over him - he just hated the way that most elves always seemed to be sneering down their noses at him from their lofty heights – and perhaps she was too skinny for dwarf tastes – but her long hair fell in a great, smooth sheet down her back, reminding him of the pale gold he had so loved to work all those long years ago, and she moved with a quiet grace. He imagined her stealthily creeping up on an enemy – she could have an arrow through him before he even knew she was there.

“It’s done,” he said. She untied the purse at her belt and paid him. She dropped the coins into his hand, making sure that their fingers didn’t touch and he flinched as they fell into his palm as if he felt the weight of her imagined scorn burning his skin.

Now, just get on your horse and go, he thought. But she hesitated, fidgeting uncertainly for a moment, and then turned to him and asked how long he thought it would take her to reach the Mountain Eagle inn.

“A few hours.” 

She stared up at the sky. By now it was nearly dark and clouds covered the rising moon. An elf’s eyesight was better than most, but it was dangerous to be out alone after sunset. Thorin knew this too. Small roving bands of goblins and orcs raiding down from the north would sometimes attack unwary travellers once the sun went down.

“I would have been there some time ago if it hadn’t been for that shoe,” she muttered. Then she seemed to make a decision and squared her shoulders. “I’ll pay you well to sleep in your hall overnight. I saw another bed in the corner of the forge – you could sleep there.”

Her manner affronted him but Thorin felt as if he had no choice. The bed made up on the floor of the forge belonged to a young lad who occasionally came over from a neighbouring farm to help and who then stayed the night. How could he turn away a traveller – and a woman at that? What would be the depth of his guilt if anything happened to her? He felt like telling her that she should be the one to sleep in the forge but, instead, he growled: “Take the bed but keep your money.”

A flicker of surprise passed over her face which angered him further. “Of course,” he almost said, “we dwarves are so acquisitive, I suppose you expected me to charge double.”

She unbuckled her pack from her horse before following him to the hall. She saw that there was only a single room with a bed and a large chest in one corner and a table and chair in the other. He removed a clean shirt and some night attire from the chest, picked up a loaf of bread and a slab of cheese from the table and stomped out muttering that he would attend to her horse. There goes one bad-tempered dwarf, she thought. But I suppose I did take his bed. She set down her bow and quiver, unstrapped her knives and then sat on the chair and opened her pack. For a moment, she looked inside, then closed it, and, picking it up, took it back to the forge.

As she pushed open the door and walked in, she found Thorin in the process of slipping his shirt over his head, his apron and singlet now discarded on the floor. He flushed and snarled: “Is there no place in my own home where I can have some privacy?”

Tauriel reddened too and began backing out of the door. “I’m sorry. I only thought I’d share some of my supplies with you.”

She turned to go and her embarrassment made Thorin feel mean-spirited and uncomfortable. He took two quick steps across the room and touched her arm. As she turned back towards him, he said quietly, “Thank you. It was a kind thought.”

Tauriel realised that when he wasn’t shouting or snapping at her, he had a deep, rumbling voice that had a certain warmth about it. “It isn’t much,” she said, “only some lembas bread and a bottle of wine.” She glanced down at his hand that still rested lightly on her arm and he hastily withdrew it as if she burned him.

He gestured to a work table and she sat down and produced her supplies from her bag.

He grinned, showing even, white teeth and she suddenly thought how pleasant he looked. “We dwarves produce a form of lembas bread called cram. It’ll be interesting to make a comparison.”

She handed over the way bread and he divided his loaf and the cheese then found a couple of mugs for the wine. “Quite a feast!” he smiled. 

The wine was a good vintage, the cheese was strong and tasty and Thorin acknowledged the superiority of lembas over cram. By the time they had finished the meal and consumed the bottle of wine, both were feeling mellow and wondering why they had taken such an initial dislike to each other.

Tauriel told Thorin about her dangerous journey from the palace of the elven king, Thranduil, in the forest of Mirkwood, bearing messages to the elves of Ered Luin. Thorin felt that he needed to reciprocate with some details about himself. But the story of Smaug and his exile was just too bitter and hung heavy on his heart. He was ashamed that so many years had passed and still he had failed to regain his kingdom. He had cut his beard and sworn never to grow it again until the dragon was dead and the throne of Erebor was restored to his lineage. 

And so, Tauriel didn’t know that she broke bread with the King under the Mountain. Instead, he made her laugh with amusing tales of various journeys he had taken in search of work between the Blue Mountains and Bree. They smiled at each other across the table and Thorin thought that, for an elf, she was intelligent and very beautiful; and Tauriel felt that, for a rough smith of a dwarf, he was charming and very handsome.

Perhaps the effects of the wine began to wear off and he sobered a little but Thorin’s smile slowly disappeared from his face. He looked at her intently and she looked back thinking that his eyes were a remarkable shade of blue. They sat there quietly for a few minutes, just looking at each other. An erotic ripple passed between them and neither of them liked it. “I think you’d better go back to your room,” said Thorin. She understood and nodded, rising reluctantly from her chair but, before leaving the forge, she reached out to brush his hand gently with long, cool fingers to show that she appreciated the connection that had been made between elf and dwarf.

Thorin sat there for some time, feeling a confusion of emotions. He closed his eyes and the touch of her fingers still remained on the back of his hand. Then he sighed and got up.

She had left her pack behind on the floor. Better not return it to her tonight, he grinned to himself, in case she’s pulling some item of clothing over her head. It was a nice thought to take to his bed, but he picked up the pack to place it on the table in full view in case she forgot it tomorrow morning.

His brow furrowed because, although it looked almost empty, it was surprisingly heavy. Another bottle of wine? A concealed weapon? He wasn’t quite sure what made him do it but he took a peek inside: a small bundle of letters - for Thranduil, he supposed - some items of clothing, a few packets of lembas bread and that was it – except for something wrapped in velvet at the bottom of the bundle.

Curiosity overcame him and he unrolled the velvet. Inside was a jewelled dagger in a scabbard. It was the most exquisitely made item he had ever seen and his craftsman’s soul shivered as he held it up to the light of the lantern. Both the dagger and its sheath were made of gold, cunningly wrought and inlaid with patterns of mithril. Precious stones were embedded in the hilt and had been used to trace a delicate pattern down the scabbard. It must be a gift for Thranduil. But Thorin’s mouth curled in a sneer. No elf would ever appreciate such workmanship and beauty as he did. And, just for a moment, his desire for it was so great that Thorin thought of stealing it and hiding it so that this treasure could always be his.

But that thought quickly passed. Stealing it might not be a good idea but hiding it to keep it safe, as he intended to hide his new blade, was. He had made it a regular habit to hide anything valuable in a special cubby-hole in his forge. The orc raids were becoming more daring and Thorin had been obsessed with protecting his few possessions ever since the depredations of Smaug.

And so he hid the dagger and the blade, then collapsed upon his bed into a very heavy and slightly drunken sleep.

Tauriel was up at dawn and ready to go. She had to make up for lost time and had intended to sneak away before Thorin awoke. After the previous night had aroused in her some unexpectedly tender feelings for him, she thought it best if they never saw each other again. Such emotions were just too strange for her to cope with.

Unfortunately, her pack was still in the forge. This was not a big problem for her and with the stealth that Thorin had observed, she crept back into his room, where he still slept soundly, and removed her bag from the table.

She froze. The bag was so light that she knew immediately that the precious dagger was gone. What had he intended to do? Replace it with a stone or a metal tool so that she would leave without suspecting anything? She had always been told that the avarice of dwarves knew no bounds. Surely he guessed that she would come back for it? Did he mean to kill her? He was only a poor smith without honour who greedily coveted her gold, but he was powerfully built and, for a moment, she doubted her ability to overcome him in a straight fight. Part of her could not believe what she was thinking. But the dagger was gone and, for her own safety, she had to believe that all things were possible. For a moment, she felt sick and swayed slightly but she knew what she had to do.

She slid her bow silently from her shoulder, then drew an arrow and nocked it. Taking aim, she moved forward to the bed where Thorin lay still fully clothed, sprawled on his back with one arm raised above his head. She kicked him in the ribs – hard – then jumped back quickly.

She had to admit, he had a lightning response. He pulled himself out of sleep and was on his feet in a fraction of a second, ready to attack the attacker. “Stay where you are or you’re a dead dwarf,” she snarled. When he saw the arrow pointing at his heart, he stopped in his tracks.

“I might have known that no elf can trust a dwarf!” she said angrily.

He gave a confused blink that made him look so innocent that, for a moment, she softened; but then she forced herself to harden her heart again. “Where have you hidden the dagger?”

Thorin’s eyes slid to a corner of the room. “Get it, “she said. “And move slowly.”

He certainly moved slowly, aware all the time of that lethal arrow. He retrieved the dagger, placed it on the table between them and took two paces back. He looked at her steadily and then said: “I hid it, not to steal it, but to keep it safe.”

Tauriel wanted to believe him but knew that she couldn’t take the risk. “Pick up that pair of manacles,” she said coldly, pointing to a set that he had recently made for the local lock-up, “and chain your wrist to that pillar.” He wrapped the chain about the pillar and locked himself into the cuffs. “Now throw the key across the room.”

“If you leave me like this, how do I set myself free? It might be days before anyone comes to the forge,” Thorin said quietly but his eyes pleaded with her.

“That’s your problem,” she replied, and, feeling like a cold-blooded murderer for abandoning him in this isolated spot, she returned the dagger to her pack and left the room.

Soon, he heard the clatter of hooves as she galloped away. All he could do was sit and wait. He knew that the young farm lad was expected on the following morning, but the hours were long and uncomfortable and gave him plenty of time to think about the treachery of elves and of the treachery of beautiful, female elves in particular. By the time he was freed, his anger was as white hot as his forge on a good day. He would never, never forgive her and, if he should ever meet her again, he would put his hands about that lovely neck....... And then he thought a bit about just how lovely her neck was, before going back to making a vengeful list of all the ways in which he would make her sorry for what she had just done.  
.o00o.  
It was strange, Thorin found himself thinking a few months later, how his life had dragged on for years, day after day, in a seemingly endless stretch of tomorrows. And then suddenly, the wizard had turned up on his doorstep only a week after Tauriel’s departure with ideas for defeating Smaug and retrieving the treasure.

His journey back to the Lonely Mountain with a company of dwarves and an irritating hobbit (elves or hobbits – which did he despise more?) had been a succession of crises and dangers. He remembered how horrified he had been that night when Tauriel had told him about the dangers she herself had faced along the same route and he had been deeply concerned for her safety. She had smiled and said she was well able to look after herself. She was a captain of the king’s guard, an effective fighter and the type of person who never took chances. Well, she had certainly demonstrated how well she was able to look after herself the following morning. That was months ago and he still felt bruised and hurt by the encounter, going over again and again in his mind everything they had said to each other.

It was like picking at a scab and he thrust such thoughts away. There were far more important things to think about at the moment – like saving his men from dying of thirst and starvation. They were lost deep in the heart of the dark and fearsome forest of Mirkwood. Their only chance of survival was to find the elves of the forest and plead with them for food.

Suddenly, just ahead, Thorin saw lights and could hear the sound of laughter and elven music. There was a group of them, feasting in a magical and protective circle of light. He still hated elves but he felt a responsibility for his men and so he walked boldly into the charmed circle. The startled elves turned to confront him and one stood up and stepped forward.

“Tauriel!” he said bitterly. She looked into his cold, blue eyes and saw the hatred there before they fluttered and rolled in his head and he fell into an unconscious trance on the ground.

“Tie him up and take him to the dungeons!” she ordered.

.o00o.

Pt II 

Thorin gained full consciousness after a guard dug him with the shaft of his spear. He felt as if he had the world’s worst hangover without having experienced any of the benefits of a good night out. He groaned and sat up, clutching his head and squinting painfully through half-closed eyes.

He was sitting on a cold, stone floor, leaning against an equally cold, stone wall. He seemed to be in some kind of guardhouse. Two elves stood close by with spears; one of his wrists was chained to a metal ring in the floor; and Tauriel sat opposite him behind a wooden table, looking rather officious, he thought.

“Well, whatever that was, you should bottle it,” he grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to shake the mists from his eyes. The guards grinned until Tauriel cast them an admonitory look at which their faces regained their original blank expression.

“Is this a hobby of yours?” he asked.

“A hobby?” She looked puzzled.

“Chaining up strange men. That’s twice you’ve imprisoned me. What’s the attraction?”

Again, the elves’ mouths twitched and Tauriel realised that there were a number of reasons why she didn’t want them present in the room. She dismissed them and they went outside to guard the door.

Thorin was gradually assessing, as his wits returned, that all his weapons and most of his outer clothing, including his boots, had been stripped from him. He could understand why his sword, Orcrist, and his bow were missing, and even perhaps his chain mail, but they had also taken his furs, his fine velvet surcoat, his beautiful silver and mithril belt and his heavy rings. Dressed only in a dark blue shirt and breeches, he no longer looked like Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, but like the humble smith that she had first seen.

“Why have you taken my clothes?” he asked.

Tauriel leaned back in her chair and smiled sweetly.

“Ah, yes. We find there are a number of reasons for stripping a prisoner. If he’s cold, the fight goes out of him. If he has no boots, he is less likely to run away.”

“And a prisoner’s valuables? Like his rings and mithril belt?”

Tauriel leaned forward again and gave Thorin a hard look.

“Well, we confiscate items that have obviously been stolen by known thieves.”

Thorin’s mouth opened and closed again. Yes, he could see why she would think that: one day a poor country blacksmith from the wilds of the Blue Mountains, the next, a well-dressed, beringed warrior dwarf running around Mirkwood with a band of companions. He could understand why she was suspicious but he felt relieved that he had told her nothing about himself when they’d first met. And the elves would find out nothing from him now either - neither about his origins nor his quest. 

It galled him to think how many labelled the dwarves as greedy. Yet Thranduil and the Wood-elves were known to lust after silver and white stones. And although the hoard of the elven king was great, he was always eager for more since he had less than the other elf lords. One cause for bad feeling between the elves and dwarves in ages past involved an incident when Thranduil had bargained with the dwarves of Erebor to shape his raw gold and silver into precious objects and had afterwards refused to pay them. The dwarves had kept the elven treasures and a war had been fought over it. Ultimately, Smaug was the only winner. But if Thranduil found out that Thorin had a plan to reclaim his kingdom and his gold, then he would want a share and the dwarves would have to pay heavily for their release.

So, he thought, it all went back to that misunderstanding over the golden dagger, did it? Once more, Thorin felt the pain and anger of that day. He was insulted by her opinion of him and yet knew he couldn’t and shouldn’t say anything in his own defence. He glared up at her from under his dark brows whilst she seemed to stare arrogantly down at him. My, he would like to wipe that look from her face, but he would have to let her win this round. He had looked in her pack and found the dagger but she had obviously not opened the lid of his chest because the chest contained all the items from a previous life, including furs and fine clothing. And in his hiding-place in the forge were weapons, the rings, his mithril belt and a bag of gold that had been saved carefully over the years of his exile. After Gandalf’s visit, he had rounded up his 12 companions, dressed himself once more as Thorin Oakenshield, bought horses and provisions and set off at last for the Lonely Mountain.

And now, one beautiful elf warrior was trying to thwart him.

In fact, Tauriel was not feeling in the least bit arrogant. She was, instead, feeling very confused. It had been disturbing to see Thorin again after all these months – and so unexpectedly too. As he had marched so confidently into their magic circle with his sword and bow strapped across his back, his fine mail shirt and his valuable accessories, he looked like a great dwarven war-lord and, for a moment, she almost didn’t recognise him – until he said her name. She had reacted to his presence with the utmost suspicion particularly after his men were also captured. What were they doing here? Why were they dressed so well? Where were they going? She had no answer to these questions. But, for some reason, those dark blue eyes which now glared at her with such contempt, were making her feel very uncomfortable.

There was a knock at the door and one of the guards entered. “The king is ready to see him now,” he said.

They unchained him but bound his hands with ropes behind his back instead. He was escorted up several flights of stairs and into the presence of Thranduil.

Thranduil’s palace was a vast, natural cave system, made beautiful through the creativity of the elves. The caves were set on the banks of a river and although they provided shelter, particularly in winter, many of the elves preferred to live outdoors, in their large and intricate tree houses.

Thranduil’s hall was a fine space and Thorin looked around with genuine interest comparing it to the dwarven halls of Erebor. The king was tall and elegant with beautiful, aloof features and long, blond hair. He sat on a throne made of twisted gold that looked almost as if it grew and was a living thing. 

Thorin and Thranduil looked at each other for a few long moments, trying to assess each other. It was Thorin who broke the silence first with his most pressing question.

“Where are my men?” The other dwarves had been holding back some distance behind him when he had entered the circle but he hadn’t seen them since he lost consciousness and they were nowhere in the hall.

“It is for me to ask the questions and for you to answer,” retorted Thranduil with an icy sneer. “You will tell me why you attacked my people.”

Thorin snorted. “I think if I meant to attack anyone, I would have had my sword in my hand and not strapped to my back. We were lost and starving in the forest and only wanted to beg for food.”

“And what were you doing in the forest?”

“Looking for food because we were starving.”

“But what brought you to the forest in the first place?” Thranduil was beginning to get angry.

Thorin thought it was time to shut his mouth and refused to answer.

“Very well,” said the king, lounging back on his throne with languid grace, “take him away and keep him safe until he feels inclined to tell the truth, even if he waits a hundred years.”

It was at that moment that Tauriel stepped forward. She was also annoyed that they seemed no closer to finding out what Thorin had been doing in Mirkwood. She had a piece of extra information and had been mulling over whether or not she should tell Thranduil. Of course, she persuaded herself, it was her duty, but a secret little something deep down inside of her wanted to hurt Thorin. She wasn’t quite sure why and was afraid to examine her motives.

“My lord, I know this dwarf,” she said loudly and with authority. All eyes turned towards her, including Thorin’s. The king nodded for her to continue. “He is a blacksmith from Ered Luin. I stopped at his forge when my horse cast a shoe.” She could have ended there but she didn’t. “This dwarf is a thief. He tried to steal the gift of the golden dagger from my pack but I discovered the theft, chained him up in his forge and left him.” An amused ripple of laughter ran around the room as the elves glanced between their slender captain and the muscular Thorin. Tauriel continued: “He was a poor dwarf, living simply. Now he possesses furs and velvets, gold and mithril, and a superb sword which appears to have been crafted by the elves.” 

She gestured to one of her men to bring forward the sword and Thranduil examined it.

“This is a Sindarin blade – a great sword of my people,” he said angrily. “Where did you get this from?” 

Thorin compressed his lips but still refused to answer. Orcrist was, indeed, a famed sword of elven make, taken legitimately from a troll hoard. But, perhaps it was for the best that they thought that he and his company were a band of thieves and brigands. However, it didn’t get him any closer to freedom. What shocked him was the pain he had felt when Tauriel had said her piece. He had no reason to expect her to say otherwise, but somehow it had felt like a betrayal.

“Take him to a cell,” said the king. And as Thorin was led away, he sent Tauriel such a look that she felt as if he had punched her and she took a step backwards. Thranduil gestured her to his side and spoke quietly in her ear. “There is more to this dwarf, I believe, than we yet know. It will be your especial duty to guard him and question him. Engage him in casual conversation and see if he lets anything slip.”

She bowed and followed Thorin back down to the cell block. Part of her welcomed this duty and part of her feared it.....And she didn’t know why.  
.o00o.  
The cell allotted to Thorin was on the lowest level and the only one there. The immediate area was also used to store barrels of wine that were shipped up the river from Lake Town. The mouth of the cave opened here upon a small quay and watching the coming and going of boats and barrels on the river would afford Thorin some means to idle away the time over the next few days. 

After they had descended from Thranduil’s hall, Tauriel made sure that his cell was secured, sent the two guards off to fetch blankets, food and water and then took a seat opposite him again.

“Well done, Tauriel,” he said when they were alone. “You must feel a lot better for that. What have I done to deserve your spite?” When she returned no answer, only a cool stare, he continued: “I kept your dagger safe, along with my own valuables, but get accused of theft. You leave me chained up in my own forge after I gave you shelter for the night, without any concern that I might have died there. I took you into my home when you were too afraid to go on in the dark. But, when I turn up starving on your doorstep, you render me unconscious, chain and bind me once more, strip me of nearly everything and encourage your king to imprison me for some unnamed length of time.....” He paused and then said, “I thought you were a friend.....You touched my hand,” and this came out more bitterly than any of the rest.

He stood there, gripping the bars. Tauriel felt glad that the bars separated them because she could feel the heat of his anger even at this distance. When he put things like that, he made her feel like the worst elf to walk Middle-earth. Had she misjudged him? She didn’t know and there was no way he could prove what he was saying. But a little well of misery bubbled up inside her and she remembered how she had touched his hand because she had been drawn to him. Suddenly, she wanted to apologise. Of course, she didn’t. But she did say quietly: “I think you would have behaved the same way if our positions had been reversed.”

For a moment, he continued to glare at her, but suddenly he threw back his handsome head with its black, shaggy mane and laughed. She was startled but he grinned, his mood completely changed. “Yes, you’re right, I think I would have done. Perhaps we’re more alike than either of us think.”

The food and water arrived then and Tauriel felt even more guilty as he gulped down the water and wolfed the food. He really had been starving. 

Suddenly, there was a shout from the quay as a new cargo arrived and Tauriel went outside to make sure that everything was being overseen properly.

“Thank goodness for that! I thought she’d never go,” said Bilbo’s voice close to Thorin’s ear. Thorin jumped. But it was indeed the hobbit wearing his ring of invisibility. “They’ve captured all the other dwarves and they’re being held in cells on the next floor up,” he continued.

Thorin heaved a sigh of relief. “Have they been interviewed by Thranduil yet?” he asked urgently. “Tell them they mustn’t say a thing about who we are and where we’re going.”

“Don’t worry,” said Bilbo, “Balin’s got that all under control. Just give me a few days and I’ll think up a plan to get us out of here – although that could prove tricky with such a big, strong gate and so many guards. Now just get that captain involved in casual conversation. Make her relax. Don’t let her think we’re up to something.” With that, Bilbo saw Tauriel heading back to the cell area and Thorin could hear his little furry feet go pattering away and back up the stairs.

“I’ll get you some more food,” she said genially. His laughter had somehow improved the atmosphere between them greatly. “And, now that the new supplies have come in, you might even get a cup of wine. We don’t mistreat our prisoners, even if you’re under the impression that we do.”

The food and wine arrived and Tauriel sat down to join him. Apart from the bars separating them, it was almost like the evening they had spent together in his forge. She told him about her life as a captain of the guard, the different journeys she had made to all the corners of Middle-earth in the king’s service, and, more immediately, the forays into the forest to do battle with the fearsome spiders of Mirkwood. He did his best to appear to be sharing confidences but without giving anything important away. He told her how his grandfather had been killed by orcs and how his father, suffering from depression, had set out on a journey in recent years but had never returned. His mother was dead too and now he only had a sister and two nephews whom he saw infrequently. He didn’t tell her that these nephews were languishing in the cells upstairs. Nor did he mention Smaug nor the dwarven kingdom of Erebor but led her to believe that his family had lived all their lives in Ered Luin.

She began to feel that strange tenderness towards him that she had felt before. He seemed such a lonely man and she wondered if he had chosen the isolated position of his forge on purpose. “Why did you build your forge at that crossroads? Wouldn’t you have been better off nearer some small town or village? You’ll never find yourself a dwarf wife right out there in the middle of nowhere.” She said this last jokingly but for a reason. She wanted to know if there was someone he loved and who loved him.

Thorin considered her remark with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think I’ll ever find a wife no matter where I live,” he said. “There are so few dwarf women that not many of us get the chance of marriage. My sister, Dis, was greatly sought after and married a dwarf that she loved very dearly. But he died when her boys were young. She could have been married again a hundred times over, but she has remained true to her first love.”

“We really shouldn’t drink together,” thought Tauriel, beginning to feel maudlin. Thorin was gazing at the floor, remembering things past. He looked up and was startled to see tears in Tauriel’s eyes. “That is such a sad story,” she said and he thought she cried for Dis when, in fact, she cried for him. Trying to smile, she said, “So what do you unmarried boys do with your time, then?”

“Well, we make things,” he said seriously.

“Make things?” she laughed.

“Yes, that’s why so many of us work as smiths. If we cannot find a beautiful dwarf woman, then we must make beauty for ourselves. Our love of wrought silver and gold and precious stones burns fiercely within us. When I saw that dagger………..”

At this, Tauriel nearly wept again. Thorin had no wife nor family and little hope of any and so he completely immersed himself in his craft, making cold metal a substitute for love and warmth and laughter. She wasn’t quite sure if she could continue with this conversation and so she busied herself with the platters and poured him another cup of wine. As he reached through the bars to take it, she suddenly took his hand and squeezed it gently. “There WILL be someone,” she said. 

“You know this?” he asked softly, returning the pressure and pulling her closer. He contemplated yanking her arm through the bars and pulling the long knife from its scabbard on her back. But, what then? The keys were on the far side of the room and there were still all his comrades imprisoned upstairs. He knew he had to wait for Bilbo to find a way.

Her face was very close to his. “Yes, I know,” she replied. 

His eyes glittered and suddenly she was afraid. She let go of his hand and thrust the mug at him. The relief guard came then and she disappeared for some hours, but she was back before dawn, sleeping for the rest of the night on a small truckle bed.

“Well, I don’t know what idea Bilbo will come up with,” Thorin mused, “but it had better be a clever one. I’m never left alone and I bet the lads upstairs aren’t either. We could all do with magic rings.”

.o00o. 

The morning came and Tauriel went out on the terrace to breathe in the fresh, cool air.

“It’s me,” said Bilbo in Thorin’s ear. “I’ve got a plan. It will be impossible to escape through the main gate – too many guards and they would overwhelm us immediately, even if I could get you out of your cells. But, see those empty wine barrels.....” Thorin looked and there were many barrels on the quay waiting to be floated back to Lake Town. “If I can help you get out of your cells, then you can climb in those barrels – and away you go!”

“And we’ll all probably drown!” exclaimed Thorin.

“All right,” said Bilbo sharply. “Sit in your nice cell if you wish until you can think of a better idea!”

Thorin finally had to agree that there was probably no better way. That day there would be a shipment of very fine and famously potent wine. The dwarves had somehow to get their gaolers drunk and then Bilbo would steal the keys and let them out. 

Would Tauriel be so easy to manipulate, Thorin wondered? 

.o00o. 

Tauriel found Thorin morose and withdrawn that day. She wasn’t surprised. He must be feeling impatient with his imprisonment. Well, he knew what he had to do to resolve that.

But Thorin was laying plans. He was stretched out on his bunk with his back to the room, working out how he and Bilbo could pull off an escape later that night. And, if they managed to get as far as Lake Town, would the men there welcome them or turn them over to the elves who would, in all probability, pursue them? 

Before the dragon came, the men had lived in Dale, a town built close to the dwarven halls deep in the Mountain. They had worked surprisingly well together and both races had grown rich off each other and from their position on the trade routes of Middle-earth. They not only worked with each other but drank with each other and many who visited Dale remarked upon the apparent brotherhood that existed between man and dwarf. Smaug put an end to all that, totally destroying Dale and taking up residence in the Lonely Mountain. The surviving men had decamped with their families to what they thought was a safe distance on the far side of the Lake where they continued to trade from another town that they built there on stilts over the water, whilst the dwarves had left the area entirely, becoming the poor relations of other groups of dwarves and finally settling and working as smiths in the far west beyond the Shire. 

The men had never associated much with the elves whom they considered aloof but, they were prepared to sell their wines to them, and regular shipments went up and down the river from Lake Town to Thranduil’s palace, twenty miles away. There was no way of knowing how they would respond to the dwarves and Thorin would have to take his chances.

Later that afternoon, the new barrels of wine arrived. Thorin recognised it from all those years ago and grinned to himself as he remembered some inappropriate carousing from his youth when he had suddenly been felled in the middle of a sentence......almost as if he had been smitten by an elven spell, he thought.

When it was time for the evening meal, Tauriel joined him again, pleased to see that he now seemed a lot more cheerful. As he hoped, she offered him a cup of the newly-arrived wine. He laughed and talked, trying to distract her, guessing that Bilbo was often in the room and probably splitting his time between the two cell blocks. He persuaded her to drink another cup with him and then another. But, when Tauriel’s back was turned, he would pour much of his into a slop bucket whilst the invisible Bilbo surreptitiously topped up her cup, a little at a time.

Well, she could hold her liquor, he thought as the night wore on, and he began to doubt the success of their plan. Tauriel was feeling very happy. She had laughed so much and Thorin’s company made her feel warm and womanly rather than like a captain of the guard. When he smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkled delightfully at the edges. When he sang some mournful dwarven songs in his deep baritone, she was moved and felt his love of beautiful things. In return, she produced a lute and sang an elven song in a sweet, pretty voice and he complimented her on her skill. When she poured him yet another cup of wine and came close to the bars, he suddenly reached out and touched her hair, murmuring that it was like molten gold. She had blushed and downed her own cup of wine very quickly in order to cover her embarrassment.

Her feelings for this dwarf were very troubling but his steady gaze through long, dark eyelashes seemed to say that he returned those feelings. She suddenly found the need to lay her head on the table whilst she thought seriously about these difficult matters........ And Thorin and Bilbo both let out an audible sigh of relief as she began to snore gently.

“Phew! She’s got a lot more stamina than the guard upstairs,” exclaimed Bilbo softly. “Our friends are free and waiting.” He unlocked Thorin and the other dwarves crept into the room. They greeted him silently with raised salutes and punches to the shoulder. Faint streaks of light were showing in the sky as they passed out of the cave and onto the quay. Thorin paused and gently caressed Tauriel’s hair which was spilled across the table. “It was no lie,” he thought. “It IS like molten gold.” He tried not to think about her reaction when she woke up or the trouble he had doubtless got her into.

 

Pt III

Tauriel was brought to her senses by a violent shaking.

“They’ve gone! They’ve gone, sir!”

She was immediately alert and her heart sank to the pit of her stomach when she saw Thorin’s empty cell. An agitated quay man rushed her outside and pointed down the river where she could see in the far distance a barrel bobbing in the water.

“They’ve escaped in the barrels, sir! I’d just come on duty when I saw the last one pushing off!”

Leaving instructions that the man should get an audience with Thranduil as soon as possible so that he could tell the king what had happened and what his captain of the guard had decided to do about it, she grabbed her weapons and ran to the main gate where several horses were always kept ready for messengers. 

She was pleased to see that the grumpy horse who had carried her to Ered Luin and back again was one of the group. In her mind, she had called him Thorin because, not only was he black-haired and bad-tempered, he was bloody-minded and determined too. If any horse could get her quickly to Lake Town over 20 miles of rough ground, it was this one.

It was a bad road because it was so little used. Boats were a smoother and more convenient mode of transport, particularly favoured by the elves. Its one advantage was that it took a less winding and tortuous path than the river and so was usually faster. Tauriel urged her horse at a fair speed along the path. It ran in quite a straight line, occasionally touching the river, but more often the river wound its way out of sight as it curved its way to the lake. When the river did touch the road, she caught brief glimpses of the barrels, sometimes bobbing along erratically in quite rough water. “And I hope he breaks his neck!” 

She really meant it. She couldn’t believe that the delightful, charming dwarf who had sung her songs and complimented her and touched her hair so gently had done this to her. It was not so much that she would be reduced to the ranks for letting her prisoner escape, but that she had been tricked and deceived by someone she had learned to like. And, perhaps it was a bit more than mere liking too. There was a painful sensation around her heart that she had never felt before. Had it all been a tissue of lies and pretence just to catch her off-guard and to assist him in his escape? She had to allow that it must have been and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

It was three hours before she was on the last straight stretch to Lake Town. Tauriel could see them quite clearly now, and all the barrels had survived. They were still ahead of her but she wasn’t far behind and she would round them up once she reached the town. By the time she had arrived at the main square of the town which was adjacent to the quay, she could see the last dwarves scrambling out of the water. A large crowd was beginning to assemble and she was forced to watch the events unfold from the rear. Her position on the horse gave her a good view and she was suddenly aware of another horse sidling up next to her own.

“Good morning, Captain! To what do we owe the pleasure?” It was Bard who held an equivalent position to her own among the men of the town. He had a stern face but she knew him to be a decent man, an excellent officer and a bowman as accurate as any that Mirkwood could produce.

“I’ve come to collect some escaped prisoners,” she said, nodding towards the dwarves who, led by Thorin, were mounting an auction podium, apparently about to address the crowd. “I’d appreciate your cooperation.”

Bard didn’t answer but raised his hand to show that he wanted to listen to what the dwarves had to say.

The dwarves looked a bedraggled and rag-tag bunch. Like Thorin, they had all been stripped down to their shirts and breeches. They were now soaking wet and some of them were bruised and bleeding from their rough passage. Thorin stepped forward and mounted the auctioneer’s block so that everyone could see him. He drew himself up and flung back his head proudly. His eyes were dark and flashing as they swept the crowd and, even without his fine clothes, he looked like the war-lord that Tauriel had seen when he had suddenly appeared at their feasting.

There was an expectant hush and Thorin announced in a loud and thrilling voice:

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain! I have returned!”

There was a stunned silence and Tauriel believed that she was more stunned than anyone.

A king! How dare he! How dare he pretend all this time that he was nothing but a poor smith! Letting her think he was a thief! Allowing her to chain him up – twice! Letting Thranduil imprison him without revealing his status! Once she got her hands on him.......

“I want you to arrest those dwarves!” she snapped at Bard.

“I think that might be a bit of a problem,” he replied and an unaccustomed grin spread slowly across his face. The crowd had erupted into explosive cheers. Caps were being tossed in the air and the dwarves were being hoisted onto willing shoulders and were even now being paraded down the street to the grand house of the Master of Lake Town.

Tauriel didn’t understand their response and she looked wonderingly at Bard. “Well, you see,” he smiled, “when the King under the Mountain returns:

His wealth shall flow in fountains  
And the rivers golden run. 

And I don’t think you’ll be able to take the people’s golden king away from them.” He bowed to Tauriel and rode off down the street to the Master’s House.

.o00o. 

A few hours later, in the local inn, Tauriel was writing a letter to Thranduil, informing him of the unexpected turn of events in Lake Town and asking for permission to stay on and keep an eye on the situation. Her thoughts were so disordered and her emotions in such disarray that she could hardly hold the pen.

Things moved quickly in the next few days. The greedy Master of the town saw his way to wealth and riches. He clothed the dwarves and equipped them with weapons, food and ponies and talked to everyone enthusiastically about the end of the dragon’s reign. The townsfolk were behind him and the dwarves all the way. Many of them could often be found on the quay, staring at the water, as if the river of gold was about to manifest itself any minute. And when Tauriel tried to get an audience with the Master, she was refused. The people, discovering her purpose in the town, glared at her in the street. But, Thranduil sent her messages encouraging her to stay on there. Now that he knew Thorin’s purpose, he too was very interested in the dragon’s treasure.

Failing to gain an interview with the Master, Tauriel visited Bard. He was polite and gracious but told her to give up all idea of re-arresting the dwarves. “They are not who you thought they were. Tomorrow, they will set off to confront Smaug in the Lonely Mountain. Their plans are not completely foolhardy. They organised this quest on the advice of the wizard, Gandalf; Thorin has his father’s map which will take them into the heart of the Mountain by a secret door; and they have the help of a hobbit, a creature, so it is said, who has skill in retrieving treasure stolen by a dragon. You should return home to Mirkwood, Tauriel. There is nothing for you here.”

“But how can thirteen dwarves and one hobbit overcome Smaug. Surely they will all be killed?”

“And if they die, then that is the risk they have chosen to take.” Bard shrugged. “Our town will then get over its gold-fever and return to making money in harder ways. Apart from the cost of equipping them, it will be of little loss to us.”

Tauriel walked through the streets that evening until she came to the mansion that had been handed over to the dwarves for their use whilst they were in Lake Town. She asked the servant who opened the door to inform Thorin that she wanted to speak with him. She almost expected to be turned away as she had been at the Master’s House but first she was asked politely to wait in the hall and then she was shown upstairs to an attractive room that overlooked the town. It was hung with elegant tapestries and furnished with highly polished furniture that smelled of beeswax and a large, curtained bed filled a whole corner. The room was empty and, while she waited for him, she gazed out of the window and wondered what she was doing there. Perhaps it was her duty to find out as much as possible before the dwarves left so that she could report back to Thranduil. Perhaps she wanted an explanation from him as to why everything he had told her about himself had been a lie. Perhaps she just wanted a damned good row with him so that she could get a few things off her chest. Or perhaps what she really wanted was to be told that those gentle touches and piercing looks and soft words had all meant something.

Tauriel felt sad and miserable – and she also felt afraid. He was a fool if he thought he could defeat Smaug and soon he would be dead. She wondered if there was any way in which she could stop him. Surely it was better to be a live smith than a dead king?

As Thorin walked down the corridor to his room, he smiled to himself. She had come at last and he was almost looking forward to the row he was confident would erupt between them. Why else would she come? It was just like a woman to want the last word. Well, he would let her have the last word if it meant he would see her again. He owed her that, at least. He expected her to storm across the room spitting blood and ready to tear his eyes out. There would be a tussle and he would pick her up and whirl her around and kiss her. And then she would forgive him.

But, when he entered, she was standing with her forehead leaning against the glass of the window. She looked sad and fragile and he wanted to fold her to his broad chest where he could protect her and keep her safe.

“Tauriel,” he said. She turned and looked across the room at him with her large eyes. 

“You go to your death tomorrow. Your life is worth more than all the yellow gold in a thousand mountains. Why do you cast it away so cheaply?” 

“I do not risk death for a dragon’s hoard,” he answered her. “I risk it for my people and for my father and my father’s father and to wipe out the memory of my friends burning and dying and to stop my ears so that I can no longer hear their screams. I have lived in shame since the day the dragon came and now the time has come for me to win back my honour and the honour of my house.”

As a soldier, she understood honour. And she now knew there was no arguing with him. She crossed the room and laid her hand upon his chest, bowing her head in defeat. He placed his huge hand on top of hers and with the other gently lifted her chin. For a long time they looked into each other’s eyes and they knew that no explanations were needed. She bent forward a little. It was a signal and he touched his lips to hers.

Thorin had never kissed a woman before and he felt like a fumbling youth. His lips brushed feather-light and tentative over hers, and he was afraid that his rough, dwarven ways would offend her. But, she seized the plaits that hung before his ears and smilingly pulled his mouth down hard upon her own. 

As their kisses deepened, his hand ran down her long fall of silken hair to her slender waist. It finally came to rest in the delicate small of her back and he pulled her fiercely to him. “I shall break you,” he whispered against her mouth. Her lips curved under his in a laugh. “It’s more difficult to break a captain of the guard than you might think,” she said. And so he kissed her harder and held her more tightly within the circle of his powerful arms. 

At last, he set her from him with a long exhalation of breath. This moment had happened before, back in his forge. “Time to go home, Tauriel,” he said gently.

She remembered that last time and regretted it. If she hadn’t gone to her room, all that stupid misunderstanding over the dagger would never have happened.

“I have no home, Thorin,” she said quietly, “unless it is with you.”

He put his hands upon her shoulders, his penetrating eyes gazing seriously into her own. “You know you cannot come with us tomorrow?” She nodded. “Any home you have with me will only be for this night or if I return from the Mountain.”

“I choose this night,” she said. ”And I pray for many other nights.”

With a tender sigh, he pulled her to him again. His lips closed over her mouth and he kissed her passionately, thinking that a life spent with her was worth all the treasures in a dragon’s hoard. 

And yet, he knew his quest must first be fulfilled.

“The morning will come too soon,” he said. And he drew her to his bed.

.o00o.

Pt IV

The dawn had come and now Tauriel watched him depart. She stood at the window again as he and his troop of dwarves rode out of the town. At the bend in the road, he turned and looked back at her, raising his hand in a salute. The townspeople cheered and ran after them, seeing them well on their way.

Just before dawn, as he had showered hot kisses on her face and her long, white throat, he had made her promise that she would return to her people in Mirkwood. “Wait for me there. It’s best not to be alone....” Just in case, he might have added.

But now, another letter had come from Thranduil telling her to remain in the town, even though the dwarves had gone. She wondered why; but the elven king was secretly mustering his forces for his own hidden purposes. And so Tauriel kicked her heels at the inn, waiting, worrying and wondering as the days dragged by, longing for Thorin’s return but desperately fearing the outcome of his mission.

When the horror finally happened, it came swooping down from the Mountain out of a blue sky. Years later, she would still remember the clanging bells, the screaming, the fire and smoke, the burning houses, the confusion, the blackened dead, the horribly wounded. And, just as suddenly, it was all over. She had been running to join the group of archers on the quay who were desperately trying to bring the dragon down. Through the thick smoke, she saw Bard calmly and steadily draw back his bow and Smaug fell, plunging and jerking into the lake, disappearing under the churning water in a great hiss of steam.

But the horror continued. The town was totally destroyed. Many of the survivors were wounded and supplies of food were very low. Miserably, in the cold and wet autumnal weather, the refugees tried to build shelters on the shores of the lake and scavenged for berries in the woods. Bard was everywhere, trying to organise the encampment while Tauriel worked with a group of women tending the injured. Many of the townspeople just sat listlessly on the ground in shock.

Help came from an unexpected quarter when Thranduil arrived with an elven force. The soldiers set about erecting wooden huts and shared their supplies with the hungry people. Thranduil called Tauriel to a meeting with the Master and Bard and their conclusions wrung her heart with misery. The dwarves must be dead. Somehow, they had stirred up Smaug’s fury and he had descended upon the town. The leaders decided that they would march on the Mountain and claim the treasure which would make reparation for all the suffering they had endured over the years.

It seemed to Tauriel that the following days of preparation and then the march with the two armies of elves and men to the Mountain passed in a nightmarish dream.

And then the ecstasy and the joy as she discovered that Thorin was still alive, walled in with his men behind the Gate of their ancestral home! 

The armies were encamped some distance from the Gate and, although she longed to see Thorin, she had to wait whilst Bard and Thranduil marched backwards and forwards negotiating with the dwarves. But, to her horror, hard words turned to threats, then to anger and then to violence. The arrival of the dwarf, Dain, with an army at his back, finally tipped the balance and, suddenly, they were all lined up for battle.

And battle would have been joined if it had not been for the arrival of Gandalf with even more terrifying news: a huge army of orcs, goblins and wargs, also in search of the dragon’s hoard, was approaching and the wizard urged them to put aside their differences and join forces against a common foe.

.o00o. 

From behind his wall, Thorin brooded on events. The threats offered by the two armies and the way they had tried to force his hand with strength of arms and blackmail had made him angrier than he had felt in a long time. The destruction of the town was a tragedy for the lake dwellers, but he could not consider reparation whilst two armies were camped on his doorstep. Thank goodness he had told Tauriel to go back to Mirkwood and she had not had to endure the attack of the dragon or any of the misery of the past few weeks.

Suddenly Dain approached the Wall and called up to him the news of the fast approaching enemy hordes.

“Come out and join us, Thorin,” he cried, but the king withdrew from the Wall and refused to talk about it further. 

The armies took up their battle lines on two spurs that jutted out from near the Gate, the elves on one, the men and dwarves on the other whilst a line of brave men acted as a lure in the valley between. Thorin watched these preparations with sullen obduracy but just when it seemed his mood was intractable, vast numbers of orcs and wargs came pouring into the valley and he could see that they would be an overwhelming force. He knew that he could stand by no longer.

“Arm yourselves!” he suddenly called to his men and they cheered and rushed to the armoury to select the best from the dragon’s hoard.

The combined forces of men, elves and dwarves were slowly being pushed back when the wall in front of the Gate suddenly crashed down and Thorin and his company emerged, splendid in their battle gear, fearsome and menacing, armed with axes and swords. The sun glittered on Thorin’s golden armour as he stood on the pile of rubble and, in a great voice, rallied all the allies to his side.

“To me! To me! Elves and Men! To me, my kin!” he cried, and his voice sounded like a horn in the valley.

On the southern spur, Tauriel had used up her arrows long ago and now fought with her two long knives. When she heard his shout and the answering roar from the armies, her heart lifted and she steadily began to fight her way down the spur and across the valley hoping to reach his side.

The appearance of the dwarves gave the allies new courage and, following Thorin, they burst through the enemy ranks, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. As the day wore on and the piles of the dead grew higher, the advantage swayed first with one side and then with the other until at last the orcs and goblins, under their great leader, Bolg, began to close in behind Thorin so that all those who were with him were surrounded.

Fili and Kili, Thorin’s nephews, fought alongside their uncle and, together, they were a terrifying force, their swords and axes rising and falling and their faces fierce and shining with the joy of battle. They steadily got nearer and nearer to Bolg and Thorin thought that, if only he could kill the huge orc chieftain, then his army, confused and leaderless, would disperse. Bolg was surrounded by a bodyguard of equally large orcs but the three kinsmen were slaughtering everyone who crossed their path. Then, suddenly, Fili was pierced with an arrow and Kili, falling on his knees in dismay beside his dying brother, was run through with an orcish blade.

Thorin, reckless with anger and grief, drove straight through the bodyguard in his rage and finally found himself confronting Bolg. The orc was a skilful and powerful opponent but he fell back before Thorin’s onslaught. Thorin raised his sword to deliver the killing blow but, suddenly, a wounded bodyguard, seeing his leader’s plight, made a last, desperate attempt to save him and Thorin fell, pierced by a spear.

Bolg yelled triumphantly and drew back his sword to decapitate the fallen dwarf when a screaming elven warrior, her knives spinning at dazzling speed, knocked the blade from his hand. Behind her came lumbering Beorn, the shapeshifter, who seized the goblin chieftain with his great paws and, clutching him in a fearsome bear hug, crushed him to a pulp, discarding his limp body on the ground. The orcss, seeing their master’s lifeless corpse, began to wail and retreat, but Tauriel knelt by Thorin’s side, protecting him with her body as the battle ebbed and flowed around them.

The great bear bent and, gently lifting Thorin in his arms, carried him safely from the fray, setting him down on the hillside in the shade of a tree. Tauriel desperately removed his helm and breastplate so that she could examine his injury. Thorin’s face was grey and covered with a slick sheen. The spear point had pierced his side at a joint in the armour and the wound was bleeding profusely.

“Thranduil!” she yelled as she saw the elf king examining his own wounded lying stricken and slain on the hillside. He came to her and saw that it was Thorin. “Help him!” she pleaded.

“Why should I help a dwarf in the evening who was prepared to do battle with me in the morning? I have enough of my own wounded to tend to,” he said coldly, and he prepared to walk away.

“I ask you because of all that has been between us......And because he is a king, and a great leader,” she said desperately, “and because he could have stayed safely behind his wall but he came to help us and turned the tide of battle.” She saw that Thranduil hesitated and so, for good measure, she added: “And it might be considered wisdom by some to win the gratitude of the king who owns the dragon’s hoard.”

Thranduil hesitated no longer but examined Thorin, gesturing to his squire to bring water and clean cloths. He packed the wound with athelas and, then, with other healing potions and with elvish spells he worked on Thorin until he was breathing quietly and a little colour had returned to his face.

Balin and Bilbo and some others of the dwarven company found them then and tenderly they lifted their king and carried him to their halls, deep in the mountain. Tauriel sat by his bed for three days until finally his lids fluttered and he opened his eyes. “Tauriel!” he breathed and then he fell into a deep sleep for two more days.

When Thorin finally gained full consciousness, he found Tauriel sitting by his bed, holding his hand in hers. She looked haggard and full of care. He was so weak he could hardly speak but he pressed her hand and asked for Dain. Now that his nephews were dead, this dwarf, a thoughtful and powerful leader from the Iron Hills, was Thorin’s heir and he asked him to take upon himself all decisions that needed to be made whilst he regained his health.

This took some time. He had lost a lot of blood and his wound was slow to heal. When he had first come to his senses and remembered his sister’s sons, he had turned his face to the wall and wept. That grief was with him night and day and Tauriel was afraid that his anguish would hinder his recovery.

At last, she was able to help him slowly into the hall of feasting where his company gathered daily. They leapt to their feet and their eyes grew bright and they cheered him until the lofty caverns echoed. He sat at the head of the great table with Dain on his right and Bilbo to his left because he acknowledged that they all owed the hobbit a great debt; for it was he who had found the weak spot in the dragon’s armour. But the hobbit was about to depart at last the following day and, although much treasure was pressed upon him, he would take very little. 

And so, slowly, Thorin gathered his strength whilst Dain made peace with elves and men, allotting them a fair share of the treasure and offering their dwarven skills which would help to rebuild Dale larger and finer than it had ever been.

But, as each day passed, Thorin grew more and more distant towards Tauriel. 

.o00o. 

Tauriel’s relief and joy that Thorin had survived gradually changed to distress as he withdrew from her. He told her he was well now and no longer needed her sleeping on a pallet in his room. During the evening meal, he was surrounded by people like Dain and was often in deep discussion with them. When he went out riding, he went alone. If they accidentally met, he was polite but aloof, giving her a distant smile – just like an elf, she thought – and, when she had a fever and was ill for days, he never visited her once....Nor had he kissed her since the morning the dwarves had set out for the Mountain.

At first, she tried to excuse him: he was a king with many demands upon his time; he was still getting over the death of his nephews; his wound was painful and left him weak. But, in the end, she knew his avoidance of her was deliberate. She didn’t understand and she knew she had to confront him.

She looked for an opportunity and when, one morning, he set out for a ride – alone as usual – she got her horse and followed him. Thorin knew that this moment would have to come and, when he entered a green glade, he brought his horse to a halt and dismounted. She caught up with him and dismounted too. They tethered their horses to a tree and then he bowed courteously and, gesturing towards the banks of a stream that ran close by, he said, “Will you walk with me a little?”

They walked side by side without touching. He’s like an acquaintance, she thought, not even a good friend.

In the same polite tones he asked, as if it were no concern of his: “Will you be returning to Mirkwood soon? You must have many duties there.”

Thranduil had, in fact, released her temporarily from her duties after the great battle so that she could nurse Thorin. The elven king thought that it was to his advantage to leave Tauriel as an observer in the dwarven stronghold and that the elves would be well rewarded for saving Thorin’s life. He wanted no relapses without Tauriel’s skilled care.

“Thranduil has given me leave to remain here for as long as you need me,” she said. And then she turned to face him. “DO you still need me?” she asked pointedly.

He smiled that awful polite smile again: “My dear Tauriel,” he said, like a kindly uncle talking to a young niece, “how could I ever NOT need you? You tended me on the battle-field, have nursed me through my wounds and have been at hand to help me in any way you can.”

To Tauriel, it sounded like a form of words.

“But surely we should be considering your needs too and those of your king?” he continued. “You should be home amongst your own people and taking up your guard duties once more.”

She made no answer and so he continued again: “You will always have my undying gratitude.”

Still she made no answer. She couldn’t because her heart had turned to stone.

He pressed on: “My gratitude is such that I have selected a chest of treasure with my own hands for you to take home with you – a mithril shirt, a fine bow, necklaces and rings of great beauty. It is yours when you leave.”

He was PAYING her! She looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face for the Thorin she had known that night in Lake Town. And then she struck him once, very hard, on the face, strode back to her horse and rode back to the Mountain.

Thorin stood there for a long time. It was best that it ended this way, he thought.

.o00o. 

When Thorin got back to the dwarven halls, he called Dain and his company to him. He told them how he was setting out for Ered Luin in a few days. He had to tell his sister about the death of her two sons – and then he would stay in the Blue Mountains where he could be a comfort to her and where he could return to his old life as a smith. He resigned the crown and pronounced Dain King under the Mountain in his place. He would take some of the dragon’s gold with him and share it with his sister but the news of his abdication should be kept secret for a week or so until he had personally sent messages to Bard and Thranduil who had returned to their homes.

The next day, Tauriel left for Mirkwood. She didn’t see Thorin before she rode out but he had ordered Balin to accompany her as far as Lake Town where he had business. She refused to take the chest of gold which gave Thorin something to think about.

Thorin, in fact, thought too much. Lying on his sick bed, unable to move, he had spent his time thinking about Tauriel. He would lie awake at night and gaze at her beautiful sleeping face as she lay curled up on her pallet. Her nearness tormented him and, at first, he waited for the day when he was strong enough to hold her in his arms once more. But then he had decided to resign his crown. He was a good warrior but not a good king. He had mismanaged events before the Gate and men, elves and dwarves had nearly finished up killing each other. 

His thoughts began spiralling off in a host of directions. What would Tauriel think of this decision? Would she want to return with him to Ered Luin to become the wife of a blacksmith when she had thought she would be a queen? In fact, when had she developed a sudden passion for him? Only after she had known he was King under the Mountain in Lake Town? Why had she come to his house? She had practically thrown herself at him. Had she thought that a relationship with Thorin would offer her a chance to get her hands on the dragon’s hoard? He had told her to go back to Mirkwood and yet she had stayed in Lake Town. Why? She must have known that Thranduil was gathering an army together and yet she had kept it a secret from him. So, this gave her two chances: if Thorin won, she would become a queen; if Thranduil won, she would doubtless get a cut. And, when he was injured on the battlefield, she must have worked hard to save his life because, with his death, went the opportunity of becoming Queen under the Mountain. He had loved her and now, realising the truth behind her actions, his heart was broken.

Thorin thought until his head hurt and decided that there were only two things he could do. Either he told her about his decision to return to Ered Luin and then ask her if she still wanted to be his wife or he could pay her for her services and wash his hands of her. He imagined himself telling her that he would be a smith once more. He could see her face drop as her dreams of wealth and power slipped from her grasp; he could see a look of contempt come into her eyes. And he couldn’t bear to witness it. Better to pay her off and forget her. 

Now she was gone, he would start working on forgetting her straight away. The trouble was, it was proving quite difficult. After he had watched her ride off with Balin, he found himself thinking about her for the rest of the day and haunting his dreams at night. 

.o00o. 

 

Pt V

 

Some days after Tauriel’s departure, Thorin set off on his journey to the far west. It had been a hard parting with his company. They had been through so much together and two of them had died. But Dain was a good leader and he would make a good king. Much better than me, he thought. But Thorin knew he was a good smith. Moreover, he now had the raw gold to work into fine things and perhaps wrought gold would make gold, as his father had always told him.

But, Thorin was angry with himself. Every day he thought of Tauriel and every night he dreamed about her. Dreams or nightmares? She knelt by his bed, laughing at him and letting her long, golden hair tumble down in a great swathe so that it seemed to touch his bare chest. But just when he was sure he could feel its silkiness upon his skin, causing him to shiver and groan, he would wake up alone and in his empty room. Yes, he was fated to be alone all his life, he knew it. He would be glad to get back to his isolated forge. Perhaps then she would no longer haunt him.

Tauriel, meanwhile, was only a few miles away from Lake Town. It had been a quiet, sad journey for her, lost as she was in her own thoughts, and with Balin being more taciturn than usual. She planned to stay overnight in the town before continuing. It was a bit of a shanty, she had been told, but the elves had done a good job of constructing temporary homes for those who still remained there. Many families had already moved to Dale and were working enthusiastically on building a new town with the help of the dwarves. Balin had messages for Bard and the Master – they needed to be informed of Thorin’s departure and Dain’s new office – and then he would head back once more to the Mountain. 

Tauriel liked the elderly dwarf. He had a kindly and a wise face and, in the immediate weeks after the battle, he had often sat with her in Thorin’s room as they waited for his recovery, keeping her company and telling her all that he could remember about Thorin – his childhood, his exile, his family, the battles he had fought against the orcs, how he had acquired the name of “Oakenshield”. 

Balin sensed that Tauriel had stronger feelings for Thorin than that of a concerned nurse and had seen her enter the house and go to his room on the night before they had left Lake Town. He had also noted her pale face at the window as they had ridden away and had seen the look in his leader’s eyes as he had turned and, raising himself in his stirrups, had waved farewell to her. And that was why, at the moment, he was feeling rather confused.

The night before Tauriel had left, Thorin had summoned Balin and asked him to accompany her part of the way. “She’s returning to Mirkwood,” he had said. “Her job is finished here.”

“Her job?” Balin had exclaimed. “But I thought....”

“Yes, I thought you thought something different,” Thorin snapped. Then seeing that his old friend was not going to let it lie, he added tersely: “Perhaps life with a smith does not hold the same attractions as life with a king.”

Balin gaped. He found it difficult to believe what Thorin was implying. Had Tauriel rejected him because he was no longer a king? Impossible, he thought, and began to question him more. But Thorin held up his hand. “Enough! It is finished! Just do your duty and remove her from my sight.” There was such pain in Thorin’s eyes that Balin had to look away.

Now, soon he and Tauriel would be at the parting of their ways and Balin felt that he had to know.

“Tauriel,” he said. The beautiful elf raised sad eyes to his face. “I think we understand each other quite well, don’t we?” She nodded in agreement. “And so I hope you don’t mind me asking why, if you love Thorin, you do not consider life with him as a smith just as welcome as that with him as a king.”

Tauriel looked confused. “I’m sorry, Balin,” she said, “but I don’t understand. Thorin’s no longer a smith – he’s a king. And, if he had wanted me, I would have been his queen.”

“If he had wanted you? If he....?” The well-oiled cogs in Balin’s mind suddenly engaged and he began to laugh. He laughed so much, he nearly fell from his horse. “Oh,” he spluttered finally. “I always knew that boy was a fool!”

He swung his horse around to face her and, managing to keep a straight face at last, he asked: “He did tell you that he has given up his throne to Dain and that he is returning to Ered Luin to be a smith again.......didn’t he? And he did give you the choice of going with him?”

Tauriel looked stunned and then angry: “No, he didn’t. He just told me that my home was in Mirkwood and my duty lay with Thranduil.”

Balin reached out and touched her arm. “Oh, my poor girl. What must you have thought? And what must HE have thought?”

“That’s the bit that bothers me,” she said grimly. “He offered to PAY me for my services!”

“Oh, my,” said Balin. “He went that far, did he? And what did you do?”

“I hit him.”

“Good girl,” chuckled Balin. “I hope that made you feel better.”

“It did for a bit, but then....” To Balin’s dismay, she suddenly burst into tears. He dismounted and, helping her from her horse, he gave her a hug and patted her back ineffectually.

They sat by the lake whilst he dabbed her eyes and said sternly: “Come, child. Tears won’t mend anything. You must decide what you’re going to do.”

“Take my bow and shoot him?” she suggested, trying to smile through the tears. “Chain him up and leave him in an isolated spot? Throw him in a dark dungeon and forget all about him? Seize him by his plaits and kiss him to death?”

“That last one sounds like a plan,” laughed Balin. “But you’ve got to find him first. And then you’ve got to persuade him that marrying a smith is in your interests. If you turn around and ride back the way we came, he should have set out from the Mountain by now.”

She kissed the old man on the forehead. “Thank you so much, Balin. I hope one day to see you again. In Ered Luin.”

She got back on her horse and, with a look of determination on her face, set out once more towards the Lonely Mountain.

.o00o. 

Thorin was roaring drunk. As the night had closed in, he had found a spot suitable to set up camp, lit a fire, toyed with some food and then had got through a few bottles of that powerful local wine. He had dreamed about her last night again. Tonight he was determined that he would be so dead to the world that nothing would penetrate his misery. He sat with his back to a tree; his horse cropped the grass next to him and he reached up to stroke its neck. “Did you know, you’re my only frien’,” he slurred, suddenly feeling excessively sorry for himself.

“Damn!” he muttered, as Tauriel came walking through the trees towards him. The wine hadn’t worked. She sat down across the fire from him and the shadows danced and played across her beautiful face. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to kiss her. But he knew that if he tried to do that, she would disappear and then he would wake up. Instead, he would torment himself by gazing at her and remembering every feature. Because a time would come when she would fade from his memory and then he would be truly alone.

Tauriel could see that Thorin was drunk. It perhaps wasn’t the right time to say what she had to say to him. When she sat down, he seemed unable to focus on her and she wondered if he realised that she was even there. He turned towards his horse to continue his conversation.

“Look, itsh the dream lady again. Comes ev’y night, y’know. Won’t let me alone. But, tell you a li’l secret.” He raised an unsteady finger to his lips, missed, hit his nose and tried again. “Don’t want her to le’ me alone. ‘Cos I love her, y’see. Waited all these years, and then have to fall in love with an elf. Boo’ful elf, though.” 

He gazed unsteadily at the raised finger hovering in front of his face and then poked his horse with it. The horse tossed its mane and edged away. “I was a king, y’know. Don’t b’lieve me, do you? She would’ve been my queen. Gave it a-a-l-l-l away.” And he threw his arms wide in an expansive gesture so that the horse sidled even further away from its master who seemed to be slightly deranged this evening. 

“Coul’n’t ask her to come to Lered Uin – Neled Ruin – the Blue Moun’ains to be my wife, could I? Wha’ would a boo’ful girl like that do inna hut inna middle of nowhere? Soon get bored, tha’s what. Leave me. Break my heart.” Thorin thought about this for a moment and then continued: “No, forgot. Can’t do tha’. Heart’s broken already. Hurts, y’know. Really hurts.” 

For a moment, he gently laid his hand upon his breast. “She pu’ her han’ there. Came to my room and pu’ her han’ there. Said she loved me.” Thorin remembered the moment and then frowned. “But p’r’aps she di’n’t love me - loved the dragon’s gol’. Norra king now. No gol’.” He sighed mournfully. “Knew she’d say no, so di’n’t ask her.” 

He looked across the fire at Tauriel and her face was wet with tears. “Why you cryin’, dream lady?” he asked sadly. And before she could answer, he keeled over sideways and went out like a light.

Tauriel got up and, taking off her cloak, laid it over him. She tenderly stroked his hair back from his forehead and kissed him on the lips. His mouth twitched as he tried to respond, so she kissed him again, laughing quietly as Thorin began to snore. “You just wait until tomorrow,” she said and curled herself in behind his back.

Thorin dreamed that Tauriel had come to him again. She had sat opposite him and she had cried. Then she had stroked his hair and kissed him - twice – full on the mouth. After that, she had pressed herself into his back and they had slept like that all night. He could almost have convinced himself that she was really there.

But, when he woke up, he was alone on the cold ground with his horse cropping the grass nearby. He wondered if he would ever get over her and he clutched his aching head between his hands. He looked up and stared across the clearing. She was there again, standing with that bad-tempered horse of hers. He rubbed his eyes but she refused to go away. For a moment, he wondered if she now intended to haunt his waking hours as well but as she came closer and tethered her horse to a tree he finally realised that the cloak he clutched about himself was hers.

“Tauriel?” he asked tentatively.

“Thorin?” she teased him back.

And then she strode purposefully across the clearing, grabbed his plaits firmly and shouted: “You stupid, stupid, STUPID dwarf!”

She yanked him to her and kissed him hard on the mouth but as he leaned forward to return the kiss, she pushed him away from her and strode back to her horse. She was just in the act of mounting when he seized her by the waist and pulled her back down into his arms.

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“Where you told me to go. Back to Mirkwood,” she snapped. “Isn’t that where you want me to go now that my task is done?”

“No – yes – no!” he stuttered.

“And while you’re making up your mind, “she said sharply, “this is for you.” And she dropped some gold coins into his startled hand.

“What are these for?” he asked, looking confused.

“For your services,” she responded.

“Services?” She was making him feel like an idiot.

“Yes, for two – no, three – kisses and for keeping me warm all night.”

Suddenly, his cruelty to her, his lack of understanding and his stupidity washed over him like a giant wave and he realised what he had done. She was punishing him now but would she ever forgive him? 

He took her hand tenderly and, opening it, he pressed a gentle kiss into her palm. “That kiss is for free,” he said quietly. Then he kissed her on the throat: “And that one as well.” And then, locking her tightly in his arms, he kissed her on the mouth. “And that one’s for free too,” he whispered, “as are any other kisses you have of me for the rest of our lives together.”

For a moment, Tauriel’s eyes searched his face and then, with a gurgle of laughter, she grabbed his plaits again and kissed him until he felt dizzy with desire. “You STUPID dwarf!” she murmured once more.

“Not so stupid,” he retorted softly, “not since I have you.”

.o00o.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, dear readers, I hope you enjoyed that! Will T&T now live happily ever after? Of course not, otherwise this would be the beginning and the end of it all and we still have a gazillion chapters to go. They have yet to visit Thranduil and I don’t think he’ll be best pleased with their relationship. And is there anything between Tauriel and Thranduil to muddy the waters? And what will other dwarves and elves from their respective communities say about a proposed marriage between them? Will it be welcomed or will it be rejected? And can their love survive the strain?
> 
> Read Thorin and the Silver Rings and find out how the two of them return to Ered Luin and struggle with everything that society throws at them.


	2. Thorin and the Silver Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, Thorin and Tauriel are betrothed and set out on their journey to Ered Luin. But, obstacles loom, not least Thranduil and reactions from their own kind. Will they get support from Beorn and Bilbo? And how will Dis receive the news about her sons? It’s not all a bed of roses back at the forge as the jealousy of dwarves raises its head and threatens to destroy their relationship. Some pretty angsty moments here, LOL!

2\. Thorin and the Silver Rings

Pt I 

The five days it took Thorin and Tauriel to travel to Thranduil’s palace in Mirkwood were the happiest days of his life. Every morning as he roused from sleep, he experienced a tortured moment when he thought that her return to him had all been a dream; but then he felt her warm body pressed firmly against his own and he would joyfully realise that her presence was miraculously real.

On their first night together, they exchanged silver rings as a sign of their betrothal and hung them on chains around each other’s necks. It was an elven tradition and, if, within a year, either of them changed their mind, then the rings would be melted down and they would part. If they got married, it would be for life. Thorin fingered Tauriel’s delicate ring at his throat and luxuriated in the amazing thought of being married to Tauriel forever. 

They were headed for his hall in Ered Luin but would have to visit Thranduil on the way. Thorin had intended to meet with the elven king anyway with his personal account of how he had given up his throne and with a great gift; for Thranduil had saved his life on the battlefield. Tauriel had the far more difficult task of asking the king to free her from her post as captain of the guard and to reveal that she intended to be the wife of a dwarven smith.

They had camped overnight by the side of the river down which, only a short time ago, Thorin and his companions had travelled in barrels in their daring escape from Thranduil’s dungeons. At dawn, he slipped quietly out from under the elven cloak so as not to wake her and strode naked down to the shallows of the river to bathe. 

His splashing roused her and Tauriel leaned smiling on her elbow to watch him. Her fingers already knew every contour of his body but this was the first time she had had the opportunity to study him properly in the broad light of day. He became conscious of her stare and emerged from the water grinning, walking boldly up the bank towards her without any sign of embarrassment. 

Thorin threw back his long, wet hair and a spray of droplets glittered and fell about him in the morning sun. The water glistened on his body, emphasising his muscled form, and her heart beat faster. He bent over her and she reached up to pull him to her but he tugged the cloak away and, scooping her up from the ground, carried her as if she were a leaf back down to the river. She laughingly pleaded with him to let her go and, as he stood waist-deep in the river, he slowly set her down until they stood, kissing, breast to breast in the water. They stood like this for a long time until the cold drove them back to the bank and to their clothes.

They arrived at the great cave complex that made up Thranduil’s palace by mid-day. Their ride had become progressively quieter as they drew nearer and they were forced seriously to ponder what the outcome of their audience with the elf-lord might be. At the gate, the soldiers on duty greeted them with cheers which seemed to acknowledge both the return of their captain and the coming of the King under the Mountain who had rallied them so effectively in their battle against the orcs and wargs. Thorin and Tauriel felt warmed by this greeting and began to be more optimistic about Thranduil’s response.

When they entered his hall, the courtiers met them with a smattering of polite applause and Thranduil smiled graciously from his golden throne. He was a lithe, handsome being of indeterminate years with long, blond hair like Tauriel’s and a crown of curiously twisted mithril upon his head. He gestured them both forward and Thorin bowed low before him. Thranduil looked slightly puzzled and said: “The King under the Mountain has no need to bow before the King of Mirkwood.”

“That is true, sire, but it is an expected courtesy from a simple smith of Ered Luin.”

There was a rustle from the crowd and they all listened intently as Thorin explained that Dain was now king and that he was returning home to the Blue Mountains. They nodded in approval as he gave his reasons and Thranduil also nodded his understanding.

“We did not know that your sister-sons were killed in the battle. That was a great loss and we mourn their sacrifice.”

This is going quite well so far, thought Thorin. He took a step forward and, bending on one knee, held out a beautifully carved wooden case that he had been holding. He swung open the lid and the crowd let out a loud gasp of wonder whilst Thranduil half-rose in amazement from his throne.

“Behold, the emerald necklace of Girion, last lord of Dale, who was slain by the dragon, Smaug. As part of my share of the hoard, I give it to you for saving my life on the battle-field!” It was a legendary piece, made of five hundred stones, as green as grass, such as the elves loved. Thranduil sat down again, stunned, and Thorin placed the gift into his hands.

Then Thranduil drew out the sword, Orcrist, and handed it to Thorin. “It is an elven blade of great strength and power but we give it back into your care,” he said.

After many gracious words of thanks had been spoken on both sides, Tauriel stepped forward and asked the king for a private audience. His courtiers bowed and left the room as did Thorin who reluctantly went to wait outside the door.

When all were gone, Thranduil looked curiously at her. “Is all well, Tauriel?” he asked.

“My king,” she replied, kneeling before him, “I have served you faithfully for countless years and I now ask that you release me from my service to you so that I may leave Mirkwood.”

Thranduil stepped down from his throne and, taking both her hands in his, he raised her to her feet.

“Tauriel”, he said, “it is true you have served me well down the long years of our lives on Middle-earth. And during that time, much have we endured and seen together and much love has passed between us. I release you from your captaincy, if that is your wish, but first you must tell me why you wish to leave and where on Middle-earth you wish to pass your days.” He gave her a troubled look and still clasped her hands.

She gently withdrew them from his grasp and said: “I wish to spend my life in Ered Luin with the dwarf, Thorin.”

There was a long, stunned silence. Thranduil was having difficulty comprehending her words. His mind refused to accept the implications of what she was saying and he tried to explain it both to her and to himself. “Has Thorin not recovered? Has he a lasting wound? Surely another nurse could be found for him?”

“Thorin has fully recovered,” she replied, “but I wish to go to Ered Luin with him as his wife. We are betrothed and have exchanged rings.”

Thranduil took a step back from her and, as her full meaning sank in, his lips twisted with a grimace of disgust. “You wish to MARRY him?” The question exploded from his lips as he failed to control himself. She nodded slightly and he turned from her so that she could not see the horror on his face. Men and elves were the children of the creator of all things, Eru Iluvatar; the dwarf was a thing apart. They were different beings, created in secret by Aule and should have been destroyed when these creatures were first discovered. He pushed away the images that began to flood his mind of the slim, delicate elf in the arms of the powerful and sinewy dwarf. The thought of their intimacy made the gorge rise in the back of his throat. Their relationship was an abhorrence. 

At last he turned back to her. “How did this happen, Tauriel?” he asked in exasperated tones.

She tried to be honest and said: “I think I first began to have feelings for him when I met him at his forge in Ered Luin. He was so grumpy,” and she smiled as she remembered, “but he was kind to me, in his way.” She paused for a moment. “But, in return, I was thankless and unfair because I thought that no dwarf could be trusted. And then,” she continued, “I became his gaoler and my feelings for him grew. When he escaped, I was so angry, but part of that was because I had this fear that I might never see him again.” She walked to a window cut through the rock and gazed at the view it gave her of the river. She laughed. “I chased after him because I wanted him but I couldn’t admit that to myself. And then I found he was a KING! The night before the dwarves set out for the Mountain, I went to his house. I was quite brazen, I suppose.” She smiled apologetically as Thranduil came to the window and stood beside her. “I slept with him that night” – a slight tremor ran through the elf-lord – “and I knew that he was mine and I was his. I thank you for all eternity because you saved his life.”

“If I had known he was your lover,” said the king grimly, “perhaps I wouldn’t have tried so hard.”

He paced across the room, spun on his heel and came back to her. He felt angry and frustrated with the turn of events. “Woman!” he shouted. “You are a fool and you are destroying your life. You will be an outcast. Both races will turn from you because they will feel the same disgust that now I feel!”

She felt deeply hurt by his reaction and was also afraid that what he was saying would prove to be true. She reached out to touch him. “Thranduil,” she said, “for any love that you may bear me, please help me now. Don’t let us part in anger like this.”

He gazed at the floor and, finally lifting his eyes to hers, he took her face between his hands and, kissing her gently on the lips, he let out a sigh and whispered, “I release you.” She smiled with relief and, placing her own hand warmly against his cheek, she murmured, “Thank you, my friend.”

.o00o. 

Thorin had been pacing restlessly outside the room. What were they saying to each other? How were things going? He wondered if it were time to rejoin her. Would his presence be a help or a hindrance? Probably better to stay out of things. But then he heard Thranduil raise his voice angrily and he couldn’t hold back any longer. Thorin stepped into the room in time to see Thranduil cup his beloved’s face in his hands and kiss her on the mouth. And then she touched his cheek and they whispered lovingly together.

Thorin wanted to stride across the room and punch Thranduil on the nose. He felt bewildered and the room spun slightly. But then he stepped back out into the corridor and sat in a daze wondering what he had just witnessed. Suddenly she was by his side. “Time to head out for Ered Luin,” she smiled. “All is well with Thranduil.” He stumbled after her as they returned to the gate. Then they mounted their horses and rode away. 

That night, they camped on the protected elf-road that cut through Mirkwood where they knew they would be safe from the giant spiders that lurked there. Tauriel chattered about the journey that still lay before them, about Thorin’s hall and how they could enlarge and improve upon it, about Dis and how best to break to her the dreadful news that both her sons were dead.

She chattered on as they ate their food not seeming to notice that most of his replies were monosyllabic. But, she could no longer deny that there was a problem when she slipped beneath the cloak on the ground and, running her hands over his chest, she held up her mouth for a kiss. Thorin turned away from her and mumbled that he was too tired for anything other than sleep.

They both lay on their backs in the dark, staring at the stars that glittered through the trees. Tauriel wondered in exasperation what it was she had done now, whilst Thorin tormented himself with thoughts of her and Thranduil together. He was equally tormented by Tauriel’s warm body touching his own. She sighed in her sleep and rolled over so that her breasts were pressed up against his arm. His biceps twitched and, Tauriel, smiling to herself, sighed again and slid her hand up his thigh to rest on his taut belly. His whole body twitched then and she nearly let out a snort of laughter.

Thorin thought about things for a bit and decided that this spasm of jealous behaviour meant he was perhaps only punishing himself. He didn’t take long to come to this conclusion and then, with a grunt of relief that he had made a sensible decision, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him.

Later that night, when Thorin had fallen into an exhausted sleep, Tauriel still gazed at the night sky. There was something wrong, she knew it. He had made love to her passionately but he had buried his face in her neck and hadn’t kissed her once. 

.o00o. 

Over the next few days, things almost seemed to return to normal and Tauriel hoped that, whatever it was that had upset him, it had all blown over. Having crossed Mirkwood, they stayed for a few nights with Beorn and the great bear of a man welcomed them warmly and congratulated them on their betrothal. He seemed to have no problem with any combination of a loving relationship, whether it involved dwarf or man or elf.

It was a hard trek across the Misty Mountains but, with their sure-footed horses and good weather favouring them, they were finally over and travelling down the other side. They avoided the house of Elrond because Tauriel didn’t feel like explaining herself to another elf-lord but they found comfortable lodgings – although in separate rooms – at the Prancing Pony in Bree. The locals were slightly curious to see an elf in the company of a dwarf but they saw many strange things in this crossroads of a town and were keener to hear of news from Erebor.

At last, they entered the Shire and found a warm welcome with Bilbo at Bag End. Nothing surprised the hobbit and so it had seemed likely to him, knowing how the two of them had knocked sparks off each other in the Mirkwood dungeon and how tenderly Tauriel had nursed Thorin through his injuries, that the two of them should now be in love. Tauriel looked for signs of disgust on his face but, to her relief, found none.

Thorin went to bed early that night but Tauriel sat up late and talked with Bilbo. The hobbit was a great expert on elven lore and he was very excited at the thought of their union. “You will find in history and legend that there are a number of instances where an elf and a human have married – Elrond, for instance, is descended from both races – but I know of no examples where there has been a marriage between an elf and a dwarf.”

She looked worried. “And this is my concern,” she said. “Thranduil warned me that it will not be accepted and that we shall be shunned and cast out.”

“Well,” said Bilbo, “I shan’t cast you out. You will always be welcome here. What does Thorin say?”

She looked uncomfortable and admitted that she hadn’t discussed it with him yet. “I haven’t told him what Thranduil said because I don’t want to upset him. I don’t think that it’s crossed his mind that some might find our relationship repugnant. He was more concerned that Thranduil would not release me from my captaincy or would find it inappropriate for me to marry a blacksmith.”

Bilbo patted her kindly and said it would all work out in the end. And the next day, Thorin had a chat with him as they smoked their pipes together. “There’s something I need to ask you,” said Thorin. “I’ve hesitated to ask Tauriel, but, how old do you think she is?”

Bilbo considered for a while. “Oh, at least a thousand years, I should think. And how old are you?”

Thorin grimaced. “Not yet two hundred,” he said.

“Come, come,” remonstrated Bilbo, seeing the worry in his friend’s eyes. “You may be younger, but you’re a man of the world. You have experienced much and suffered much, whereas I can imagine that she has spent a goodly amount of her life shut up in that palace with Thranduil.”

Thorin’s brows blackened. “That’s what bothers me,” he said.

.o00o. 

Pt II

They stayed some time with the hospitable hobbit and Bilbo managed to have a few more words with Tauriel. “Thorin’s worried about the age difference,” he told her as they were out walking around Hobbiton one day. “I think you manage to make him feel insecure in more ways than one and all your extra years of experience are of concern to him.”

“Oh, Bilbo,” she sighed, “there is nothing I can do about my age. If I had really felt the need to marry a two thousand year old elf, don’t you think I would have done that a long time ago? Thorin is everything I want and no-one else I’ve met in all this time measures up to him. I just love being with him and I love the way he is. When I look at him, I see a beautiful man, more fair than any elven lord. His age upsets me but only because I know his time will come to an end before my own. But, I love him and I must face that day when it dawns.”

Bilbo pulled her arm through the crook of his own and he patted her hand as they strolled under the trees. “Just remember what I’m telling you, Tauriel. And I suggest that you talk to him about Thranduil, too.”

Yes, Thranduil, she thought. Bilbo meant that they should discuss the elf king’s contempt for their betrothal but there was more to discuss about Thranduil than just that. Perhaps she should, but she wasn’t yet willing to take the chance. Thorin didn’t fully understand elven ways. Soon they would be in Ered Luin, a long way from Mirkwood, and there was a good chance that they would never see Thranduil again. There they would build a life together in a place so far removed from her past life that she would only need to look to their future together and her past, before they met each other, could remain an undiscovered country for Thorin – at least as far as Thranduil was concerned.

.o00o. 

They set out the following day, feeling replete after second breakfast, and, as they rode, they discussed Dis. There was no way they could soften the blow and, when they finally saw the Blue Mountains of Ered Luin rise in the distance, Thorin’s face became grim and set. The road they were on led down to the Grey Havens and the sea, but they turned aside and took a by-way to the dwarven halls in the mountains where Dis and a large group of other exiled dwarves had made their home.

They had found some caves like those that housed Thranduil’s palace and which they considered suitable for their needs, but, unlike the elves who had left the palace in its natural state, they had dug and carved and extended until they had a magnificent place to live. Men had also made their homes nearby and, as in Erebor and Dale, they cooperated well, the men farming and milling and hunting and keeping cattle, thus providing the dwarves with food, whilst the dwarves mined and smelted and worked metal. They were also good carpenters and masons, building houses and farms in wood and stone for them.

As they approached the settlement, many dwarves and men began to recognise Thorin, running beside his horse and shouting out enquiries about the outcome of his quest. Very little news had filtered back to them yet. But Thorin sat stern and silent on his horse and the crowd began to fall silent too, fearing the worst. They both dismounted when they reached his sister’s home, elegantly carved out of the rock face. “Let me go in first,” he said, leaving Tauriel to deal with the growing crowd who were now anxious and eager for news. 

As he entered the house, Dis came hurrying across the room and threw her arms about him, glad of his return. They were of a similar age and had grown up together. Her sons had been as close to him as children of his own and the brothers, from an early age, had followed their uncle around with wide, admiring eyes, proud that this famous warrior was as a father to them and trying to imitate him in all things. She was dark-haired and strapping like her brother but, now, she drew back from him and trembled.

“My sons?” she whispered. But she had already guessed the truth of things and clutched his arm for support.

“They died valiantly in a great battle against the orcs,” he said quietly. And she bowed her head in grief.

Outside, Tauriel was telling the crowd of the success of Thorin’s quest. The dragon was dead, his hoard recovered and their great halls in the Lonely Mountain restored to them. They cheered and talked excitedly, some already planning their return to Erebor.

At first, they gave little thought to who Tauriel might be but, suddenly, a sharp-eyed dwarf woman noticed the heavy silver ring hanging from her neck. Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a betrothal ring?” she asked, for many such rings were worn on chains. Tauriel could not deny it and, suddenly, all of them were staring her way. “Looks like a dwarven ring to me,” the woman continued. “Much too big to belong to an elf lord.”

The crowd were silent now, drawing some unwelcome conclusions. “It cannot be Thorin’s!” another dwarf exclaimed in a disbelieving voice. Tauriel held up her head proudly.

“We shall be married within the year and we are returning to his forge at the crossroads. Dain is now King under the Mountain.”

The crowd murmured and she could hear an angry undertone. “An elf and a dwarf?” sneered the woman who had first spoken. “That pairing has never been heard of in all the history of Middle-earth!” She looked Tauriel’s slender form up and down and drew up her own broad figure to its full height. “No dwarf would want a skinny morsel like you in his bed. He would swallow you in one bite!”

“He would squash her if he turned over in his sleep!” laughed another maliciously.

“Well, at least we shan’t be bothered with her brats. It’s reckoned that elves and dwarves can’t breed!” shouted one of the men.

“She must have cast an elven spell on him!” yelled another. “He wouldn’t want her for any other reason.”

“A spell! A spell!” the crowd began to chant and suddenly they were advancing on her in a threatening manner.

Tauriel had backed up the path to the door of the house when, suddenly, the door was flung open and Thorin was standing by her side. The dwarves and men fell silent and his eyes swept them with contempt.

“Allow me to introduce Tauriel, my betrothed, lately captain of the guard at the palace of King Thranduil, and heroic veteran of the Battle of the Five Armies.”

They looked at her more closely and noticed that, although she was slender, she was lithe and supple and carried a pair of killing knives on her back. The crowd decided to retreat down the path a little and now stood there looking at her with a bit more respect.

Thorin put his arm about her and drew her into his sister’s home. And, there they sat with Dis all afternoon trying to comfort her. “Tell me how they died,” she said.

And so they told how how Thorin and Fili and Kili had driven a wedge through the enemy hordes by their courage and bravery and how the two brothers had fought and laughed in the face of the enemy, doing their duty by their king and protecting him with their bodies and their shields.

Dis’ face shone as she listened to their vivid description of her sons’ final hours for she had borne a sword in her youth and understood their valour and their sacrifice. At last, she sighed, and, taking Tauriel’s hand in her own, she held it to her cheek and said, “I am glad that the two of us will soon be three and that perhaps there will be four or more after that. It will be a comfort to have children in the family once more and perhaps my brother’s sons will remind me of the ones I have lost.”

And Tauriel smiled and nodded but kept to herself the nasty remark that had been thrown out by the man in the crowd. How true was it, she wondered? And if a pairing of an elf and a dwarf had never been heard of in Middle-earth, how could the man – or anyone - be sure?

That night after Dis had shown them to a room, she lay in the big bed and tormented herself with the thought that perhaps they would never have children and that Thorin would regret marrying her after all. When they were alone, he had wept like a child for his sister and her dead sons and she had rocked him to sleep at her breast. Would she ever rock children of her own to sleep, she thought? Their love had seemed quite difficult even at the beginning but now it was getting even more complicated.

 

.o00o. 

Next day, they gave Dis two small chests of gold as part of her sons’ share of the hoard. Then they stocked up on supplies and set off for the forge. Thorin’s hall and forge were much as he had left them, dusty perhaps, but with very little for them to do to set the place to rights.

They sat up to the table that evening discussing how, now that they had the wealth, they would employ the dwarven carpenters and masons immediately to enlarge the hall. There would be a large, main room with smaller rooms leading off like a kitchen, a bedroom “and a lady’s bower,” said Thorin.

“A bower?” laughed Tauriel.

“Yes, don’t all ladies have bowers?”

“Well, I can’t see when I would ever use it. Why would I want to sit in a room all on my own without you?” And she bent forward and kissed him.

But Thorin insisted that he would build her one anyway.

When the work started, they squashed into the forge and slept in the bed on the floor. It wasn’t so bad – at least there was a fire to cook on and a water-pump in the corner. As they crawled into the bed on the first night, Tauriel giggled as she remembered hi-jacking him and chaining him to the pillar. But Thorin was cross at her amusement, remembering only his humiliation. “No,” she said, snuggling up closer to him, “you must think of it as the first day on which I fell in love with you.”

“Did I look particularly attractive in chains, then?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well, yes,” she said, and he snorted with indignation. “But I couldn’t help think what a fine figure of a dwarf you made sprawled out asleep on top of this bed. And, if you hadn’t stolen that dagger, I think I might have stayed around a little longer.”

Thorin sat up in bed with a look of exasperation on his face. “I did NOT steal the dagger! How many more times must I say it?”

She pulled him back down onto the pillow and rolled over to face him. “Ah, yes, but since I apologise so nicely after every time I make the accusation......” Thorin grinned at her seductive voice and swept her body beneath him. 

.o00o. 

The hall was finished in excellent time and the carpenters began to make beautiful items of furniture for it - solid chairs and benches and tables, but intricately carved with dwarven symbols. The bed was made to a special elven pattern, designed by Tauriel. From out of each corner grew sinuous posts, carved with delicate leaves and flowers whilst birds and butterflies could be found hidden in the foliage of the headboard.

Her enthusiasm and appreciation for their work pleased the dwarves and they apologised for the behaviour of the crowd on the day that she had arrived. And yet, although their manner was pleasant, Tauriel could still see some discomfort in their eyes when they glanced between her and Thorin.

When the hall was finished and they had sat down for a fine meal that Tauriel had made to celebrate their new home, Thorin began to discuss ways of making money from his work. He had plenty of raw gold and a selection of fine jewels and he planned to make jewellery with them.

“But, first, to find the customers,” he said. He didn’t feel that there would be many up in the dwarven halls of the Blue Mountains who could afford the fine work and expensive items he was keen to produce; his idea was to go to the coast, to the Grey Havens, where many elves dwelled and where ships traded. The elves had smiths of their own but had always been appreciative of dwarven skill and design. He wanted them both to stay there for a week so that he could talk to people and show them his ideas and, hopefully, take on commissions.

“And it should be pleasant for you, Tauriel, to be once again among your people,” he added smilingly.

But Tauriel shrank from the thought. There had now been a bad reaction from the dwarves and it was odd that Thorin hadn’t seemed to understand why they had been so unpleasant, putting it all down to the traditional dislike that existed between the two races. Now that they knew she was to be his wife, then he imagined that all would be well. He didn’t appreciate that, actually, this was the problem. And the thought of facing a crowd of equally angry and disgusted elves made her anxious and reluctant to accompany him.

She tried to dance around the situation, not wanting Thorin to know how people really perceived them. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt unable to discuss it with him but part of her was afraid that, if he realised that their marriage might prove to be a difficult one, then perhaps he might choose to end their betrothal.

“Don’t you think I should stay here, Thorin?” she said in a sensible voice. “There is so much still to be done and you will be really busy all day talking with people and I shall only be in the way.”

“Ah, yes,” he said in his velvety voice, as he nuzzled her neck. “I shall be busy all day. But I feel that I may need you to keep me busy all night.” And he laughed his deep, throaty laugh and carried her to their new bed to try out the feather mattress.

In the end, she ran out of excuses and on a fine, spring day, they set out for the Grey Havens.

.o00o. 

It was very beautiful there. They hired a house overlooking the estuary and Tauriel spent much of the day sitting on a balcony looking out to sea, entranced by the cry of the gulls. Thorin was very happy. All day he talked with elves and men, discussing his designs. His presence in the town seemed to stir up a lot of excitement and he soon had a string of customers. We’ll go home tomorrow,” he said with satisfaction. “This has been a very successful trip.”

He took her for a walk along the quay that afternoon and she was enjoying watching the elegant ships being loaded and unloaded and feeling relief that soon they would be on their way home without anything untoward happening. 

Suddenly, an elf was standing in front of her, saluting. It was one of the elven guard from Mirkwood and she nodded warily in recognition.

He seemed uncertain how to address them but finally decided on: “Thorin Oakenshield.....Sir.......Ma’am....... the king is on a mission here and, hearing of your presence, invites you both to a feast he is holding tonight.”

“We...we are leaving early tomorrow,” she stuttered. Then, looking hopefully for confirmation to Thorin: “Perhaps we should send our apologies?”

Thorin was tight-lipped. “No,” he said. “Thank the king for his invitation.” The soldier saluted again and marched off down the quay.

Tauriel was appalled. The thought of spending a whole evening with Thranduil and a group of elves who might make Thorin feel ashamed to be marrying her was the last thing she wanted but she would have to go through with it as best she could.

“I need a dress,” she said.

“A dress?”

“Yes, you know, what women wear.” 

And then Thorin realised that he had only ever seen Tauriel in men’s garb. He handed her a pouch and told her to buy what she wanted.

As she walked away from him, Thorin saw Thranduil touch Tauriel’s face; he saw him kiss her lips; he saw them whispering together; he saw a red curtain of jealousy. Then he stalked down the quay and away from her as quickly as he could before he roared out his rage.

 

.o00o.

Pt III 

Thorin walked along the estuary for a time until the images that kept pouring into his brain were under some control. On their journey back to the Blue Mountains, he had tried hard to put what he had seen in Thranduil’s palace to the back of his mind and he had, more or less, succeeded, convincing himself that he had misunderstood the situation and that the beautiful elf loved him and him alone. She was going to be his wife. She would never see Thranduil again.......and then, suddenly, there was the elven king right on his doorstep. It seemed to him that her reaction to the invitation was one of guilt. Why would she avoid Thranduil? Why didn’t she want to be with her own kind? He didn’t know, but they would go to the feast tonight and he would observe them together. 

It was late when he felt calm enough and returned to the house. Tauriel was ready and waiting for him. He stood on the threshold of the room and felt stunned. She was wearing an elven styled dress made of some floaty, silvery material and her hair was looped up elegantly on her head. He didn’t recognise her and, for a moment, he could see her as Thranduil’s queen. And he felt sure that all this beauty was not intended for him but for the elven king.

She spun in a silvery drift. “Lovely, isn’t it? Thank you,” she said and she wrapped him in a feminine and perfumed embrace that made him wish that they had stayed home after all.

Thranduil’s mansion in the Grey Havens was a magnificent place and, that evening, it was thronged with guests, mainly elves from the town but also many of his courtiers from Mirkwood. He was there to discuss with local elf-lords some trouble that was brewing in the North but, tonight, he was playing the gracious host. Nodding to Thorin in greeting, he then took Tauriel’s hand and, bending over it gracefully, he kissed it – much too lingeringly, Thorin thought, as he watched the king’s well-formed lips press softly on Tauriel’s white skin. He wanted to snatch her hand away but, with admirable self-control, he bowed to Thranduil instead. The elf smiled into Tauriel’s eyes: “So beautiful,” he murmured. “I had almost forgotten what it was like to see my captain out of uniform.” And his eyes gleamed as if they were sharing a private joke.

Out of uniform? Thorin glowered and wondered how he would get through the evening.

As the feast wore on, things became more of a struggle for him. He was the only dwarf there; the elves stared across the table at him in their usual superior manner and Tauriel’s attention always seemed to be elsewhere. She was seated on Thranduil’s right and she was frequently wrapped in conversation with the king, their heads close together, their voices low and intimate. Thorin was left to his dark thoughts and his cup of wine.

Thranduil was, in fact, talking about Thorin. He wanted to know if Tauriel was happy with him at the forge and if she had regretted her decision. She smiled with such a look of love in her eyes that Thranduil wished he could take back the cruel words he had spoken to her in Mirkwood. He placed his hand solicitously over hers and said softly: “You know how much this relationship disturbs me and I would wish it otherwise; but I am glad for you and can only wish you happiness.” She squeezed his hand gently in return. They had been friends for such a long time and it was very important to her that he accepted Thorin.

“He will make a very wonderful husband and, even among the elves, I could not have found better.”

Thranduil grimaced and laughed. “I think you have made that plain, Tauriel. I am feeling quite rejected.”

“Oh, you’re too fine for me, my lord,” she twinkled back. “Perhaps if I had been more like my lady over there,” and she looked across the table at a sophisticated and beautiful elven woman who was the centre of a small coterie of admirers, “I would have made a suitable queen. As it is, this rough soldier you see before you deals better with a rough, dwarven smith.”

“Ah, then, sadly it is my loss,” he teased but also with real regret. And he lifted her hand again and kissed it long and tenderly once more. “I think I’d better mingle with my other guests,” he added with a wink, “before your infatuated swain decides to run me through.”

He rose to his feet and all his guests with him; then they withdrew to another room to sip wine and enjoy each other’s company.

Thorin sat alone in a corner, stewing in his own angry and jealous imaginings. He had noticed every look, every glance, every touch and he was at a point where he seriously wondered why Tauriel was marrying him. Perhaps she really had only wanted a king. She had almost got one but he was king no longer. And so........ He studied Thranduil, laughing and talking with his guests on the far side of the room. He was very good-looking, intelligent and with a charming manner. Thorin knew the king’s wife had died some years ago and he had been left alone with a young son. Why hadn’t he married again? Perhaps he just needed a bit of a push. He and Tauriel seemed very close. Perhaps Tauriel was using him as bait to make Thranduil jealous.......and perhaps it was working. Their flirtatious intimacy tonight was driving him mad.

Tauriel was standing in the middle of the room surrounded by a group of handsome elf-lords. She was flirting with them, too, he was sure – doubtless part of her plan. He saw Thranduil glancing constantly towards the group and so she appeared to be making progress. Thorin glowered harder and drank deeper.

But, in fact, Tauriel, far from flirting, was desperately fighting a rear-guard action in an attempt to keep the elves away from Thorin. They were not being as blunt as the dwarves back in Ered Luin, but their manner and their tone were such that she was finding it even more difficult to cope with.

“So, is that your betrothed?” asked one, flicking an eye in Thorin’s direction. “One has to wonder, doesn’t one, about dwarves?”

“Does one?” responded Tauriel with a raised eyebrow. “In what way?” And then she could have kicked herself for giving him a lead-in to his next remark.

“Yes, well,” the elf-lord drawled, “one does actually wonder, y’know, looking at him, what it is that he’s got that I, for instance, haven’t. It’s not particularly apparent to me from here – but I’m sure that you, as his intended bride, must be aware of, hmmm - things – that the rest of us can’t possibly know about.” And he gave her a suggestive leer.

Tauriel held her head up and replied coldly: “I have discovered that there are indeed many ways in which a dwarf – outperforms – an elf. Thorin Oakenshield is a great warrior, for instance. Perhaps you’d like to meet him in a test of skills.” As she expected, the elf drew back with a fluttering of hands. “Oh, no, lady, I do not doubt his skills – in many things.”

His companion looked curiously at her and asked, his eyes lazily scanning her from under half-closed lids, “The attraction between the two of you absolutely fascinates me. I wonder, Tauriel, how you have managed to conquer the dislike that has existed beween our two races for so long? How did you manage to overcome your repugnance?” He shivered delicately. “He has got such BIG arms, wouldn’t you say? He is so – so – how can I put it? – unrefined. So exciting for you, my dear.”

They were treating her with so little respect that Tauriel was beginning to feel very much on the defensive but, before she could answer, a third elf-lord put in: “I have wondered for many years, Tauriel, why you remained unmarried – such a beautiful girl, too. I had heard rumours that you had a – thing – for Thranduil.” He gave a sneering laugh. “Not on the rebound, are you? Although this” – he nodded towards Thorin – “looks like a pretty big rebound, don’t you think?”

They all laughed unpleasantly but suddenly stopped as their king stepped into the circle. He took Tauriel’s hand and, bowing over it, said smilingly: “She wouldn’t have me, I’m afraid, lordlings. I pursued her for a long time but now she seems to have chosen the better man. Alas, my heart is broken but she has no pity.”

Tauriel had been on the verge of tears and felt a huge wave of gratitude that Thranduil had noticed what was going on and had stepped forward to break up the nasty little attack on her and Thorin. The elf-lords looked uncomfortable and, bowing, drifted away.

Thorin glowered from his corner. Well, her ploy had worked and her bait had drawn the big fish. Time to take her home, he thought. He had seen enough – and more than enough, too. 

But, at that moment, a graceful young elf approached him and sat down next to him. “This is a beautiful place, don’t you think?” he said. “I expect you recognise the dwarven skill that helped to build it? I’m such an admirer of your masons – none better.”

Thorin relaxed against his seat. For the first time that evening, here was a friendly face. “My name is Lostwithiel and I’m a part of Thranduil’s court. I saw you when you presented the necklace of Girion to our king. What a remarkable piece!”

They chatted amiably for some minutes but, all the time, Thorin cast anxious glances towards Tauriel and Thranduil who were still talking together.

“Ah, yes,” the elf smiled, seeing the direction of his glances. “We are all in love with Tauriel, the king especially. What a sad day it was for him when he lost his captain to the legendary Thorin Oakenshield. And what a triumph for you! How did you do it? I think we would all like to know your secret.”

He had guessed right! He knew there was something between the two of them. He turned back to Lostwithiel with eager questions. “So, they were in love?”

“Were – are. Who knows? Oh, yes, everyone was aware of it. He pursued her relentlessly and we thought she would be our next queen.”

“But, then?”

“But, then they had a lovers’ tiff – something and nothing, I believe. Soon after, she went running off after you when you escaped and, well, you know the rest.”

But, did he know the rest, thought Thorin? All he knew was that his betrothed was holding hands with Thranduil again and that they were gazing into each other’s eyes. He had had enough. Getting abruptly to his feet, he bowed to the elf-lord and then strode across the room to take Tauriel home.

Lostwithiel sat watching the little scenario of Thorin rather rudely saying his good byes to Thranduil and then hurrying Tauriel out of the room. He smiled smugly to himself.

The elf who had first been unpleasant to Tauriel sat down next to him. “Well,” said Lostwithiel, “that was very clever of me, even though I say so myself. I think that will cause a bit of trouble in the love-nest.” And the two of them laughed maliciously together.

.o00o. 

Tauriel’s heart sank at Thorin’s cold, abrupt manner as he escorted her home. He must have had a hard evening. She had done her best to protect him and she wondered which of the elves had been offensive to him and what it was they had said. She wanted to talk to him about it, to reassure him, but he had a face like thunder and she decided that it definitely wasn’t the best time.

When they got into bed and he made no move to take her in his arms, it was not unexpected. She decided to let him alone and perhaps talk about things the following day.

Thorin lay there feeling angry and anguished. She made no move to touch him. Perhaps after seeing Thranduil, she couldn’t bear to do so. Perhaps she preferred to sleep and dream about her elven prince. Well, let her, he thought. And grabbing the bedcovers to his shoulder, he turned his back on her and tried to get some sleep himself.

.o00o. 

As they had planned, they got up early the next morning so that they could ride with a mixed party of travellers who intended to get as far as the Mountain Eagle Inn in Ered Luin by nightfall, passing Thorin’s forge on the way. They had little opportunity to talk to each other privately, but they reached the forge by late afternoon. As he waved farewell to their travelling companions, Thorin remembered that first night when Tauriel had been too afraid to ride on in the dark. He wished he had never met her.

Tauriel had entered the hall to prepare some food but Thorin went to his forge and lit the furnace. Some time later, she could hear the steady beat of metal on metal. She smiled wanly. Perhaps it was a good idea for him to get things off his chest.

When the food was ready and he had made no appearance, she got ready a tray and carried it to the forge. Thorin worked in the fierce, red glow of the furnace. He was stripped to the waist and the sweat poured down his face and chest. She stood for a moment in the doorway and thought how magnificent he looked, his powerful body burnished and slick in the dancing flames. She set down the tray and he paused. She looked at him and said quietly; “Are you ready to talk about it yet?”

“No,” he said, to her dismay, and he put down his tools. Then, to her confusion, he walked towards her, scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed in the corner. He made love to her in silence but very slowly, very gently and very tenderly. Tauriel sighed and, wrapping her slender arms around him, she held him to her and thought how deeply she loved him.

When he had finished, he raised himself on one arm and looked down at her. She was so beautiful with that wonderful hair spread out over the pillow and those great eyes staring so innocently back into his own. He fingered his silver betrothal ring at her breast – and then he grasped it and wrenched it from its chain. She gasped, crying out and reaching for it. But he stood, pulled off her ring that hung around his neck and then strode to the furnace and cast them both into the flames.

She sat there, wide-eyed and, at first, could not speak.

“But – but – you just made love to me,” she cried.

“That was one to remember me by,” he said cruelly as he got dressed.

“I-I don’t understand, Thorin,” she managed to stutter out.

“Go to your lover, Tauriel. It’s over.”

“What lover?” she gasped.

“Oh, so there’s more than one?” he said bitterly. “Well, I would think that Thranduil is your best bet.”

He threw the door open and disappeared out into the night. A few moments later, she heard his horse galloping away. She sat up until dawn, hoping for his return. By morning, the furnace had gone out and she gazed sadly at the dirty puddle of silver that had once been tokens of their love. She got ready her pack and saddled her horse; but then she heard the tinkle of elven bells and Thranduil came riding down the lane, his entourage behind him, heading back to Mirkwood.

Thorin watched from the shadow of the woods as Tauriel rode away with the elven company. He would go back to his forge, he thought, and life would return to what it had been before she came.

.o00o. 

 

Pt IV 

 

Months passed and, to all appearances, life did go on just the same. Thorin worked in his forge, travelled to the Grey Havens in search of customers and visited his sister. Dis was upset when she heard that the betrothal had been broken. She would always be grateful to Tauriel for the kindness she had shown her after her sons had died.

“Well, I’m very sorry for that, Thorin, but there are many people here who will be pleased to hear the news. They gave her a rough time, you know, that day you visited.”

“Yes, but once we were married, they would have accepted her,” he replied with a shrug.

“I don’t think you understand,” said Dis, looking surprised. “Your marriage may have made it worse. There were many here repulsed at the idea of a union between you two and they certainly let Tauriel know it that day.”

Thorin looked disturbed and searched his sister’s face. “I never knew,” he said. “She never told me.”

“Did she have any trouble from the elves at the Grey Havens?” she continued. “I was surprised that you took her there. I can imagine that Thranduil gave her a piece of his mind and those elves are real ones for dishing out insults in an underhand manner.”

“Yes, she was fine – or at least I think she was – I don’t know – she didn’t say.” Thorin no longer knew what to think. “But, it doesn’t matter any more, does it, since we’re not getting married?”

“Well,” sighed Dis, “perhaps it’s just as well, particularly since you couldn’t have had children.”

Thorin gaped. “What do you mean, woman, no children?”

“Apparently, everyone knows that dwarves and elves can’t reproduce – at least that’s what my neighbour told me. I thought you loved her so much that it wasn’t an obstacle.”

“I did love her,” he sighed, “and it wouldn’t have been an obstacle – but, I didn’t know. The question is, did Tauriel?”

“Oh, yes, she knew,” said Dis, shaking her head in disgust. “The crowd threw it in her face.”

Thorin thought about this conversation for a long time. He thought about it during the many nights on which he lay awake. He thought about it whilst he worked in his forge. He thought about it as he rode on the long journey down to the Grey Havens. And he thought about it whilst he thought about all the other things to do with Tauriel. He was exhausted with thinking about her and yet he couldn’t stop.

And then, one day in spring, he had an unexpected visitor in the form of Bilbo Baggins. They greeted each other with sincere pleasure. Their great adventure together had made them very close and Thorin felt that he could talk to Bilbo in a way that he couldn’t even talk to his sister.

Thorin made a hearty meal for them both and Bilbo examined the new hall with all its excellent fixtures and fittings, showing great pleasure in its beauty and design. Tauriel’s name wasn’t mentioned but hung unspoken between them.

Finally, as they sat outside, smoking their pipes, Bilbo said: “I’ve visited Elrond recently, you know.”

Thorin responded with interest because he hadn’t seen Elrond since he had stayed at The Last Homely House as he and Bilbo and all the dwarves had set out on their quest. It had been then that he had decided that some elves were not quite so bad after all.

Bilbo paused for a moment and then said: “Tauriel’s there, you know.”

There was a prolonged silence and then Thorin said, “No, I didn’t know. I thought she had gone home to Mirkwood.”

“I think that was her intention,” Bilbo mused, “but when she arrived with Thranduil and his company, they all stayed several months; after which, she changed her mind and decided to remain behind when the others left. I don’t know why – didn’t ask. I think she just likes it there. I do too. Very civilised place.”

He chatted on about the elven stronghold, reminiscing on its beauties, its fascinating library, its poets and singers. “They like my poetry there, you know. And I’m writing a book about our adventure. They’re always very flattering. They make me feel so comfortable and I like visiting. I shall retire there when I get old.”

Thorin wasn’t listening; he was thinking about Tauriel. She wasn’t with Thranduil! His pride wouldn’t let him ask Bilbo any more questions about her but he hoped that the hobbit would volunteer some additional information. And, in due time, he did. “She’s looking very beautiful, you know. She’s got quite a few admirers. Don’t know why that girl didn’t get married long ago. Don’t know why you didn’t marry her.”

There – it was said. And Thorin felt on the defensive.

“She didn’t love me. She was in love with Thranduil – and so I broke the betrothal and told her to go back to Mirkwood.”

“Oh, don’t talk rubbish, Thorin,” said the hobbit with blunt cheerfulness. “Where did you get a stupid idea like that from?”

“From the way they looked at each other; from the way they touched. I saw him kiss her on the lips,” said Thorin angrily.

“Well, you see,” said Bilbo, sitting back more comfortably in his chair, ready to give the uninitiated a little lecture on his favourite topic, “it all goes to show that you have a very limited understanding of the ways of elves.” He tapped out his pipe, folded his hands across his stomach and continued: “I know it’s difficult to grasp just how much older they are than us - and you SHOULD grasp it because we’ve had this conversation about Tauriel’s age before – but she and Thranduil are very close because their friendship has lasted an unimaginable time. When his queen died, there was some talk about him getting married again because he had a young son. They discussed it, she tells me, but then they decided on the sensible course: they didn’t love each other so they didn’t get married.” Bilbo finished his homily on a grand drum roll. “The only person in all of Middle-earth she has ever loved through all this time is you, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Oh, how Thorin wanted to believe that! But he couldn’t quite let go yet. “That can’t be more than an optimistic guess, Bilbo.”

The hobbit banged the arm of his chair in frustration. “It is NOT a guess, Thorin! It is the truth! And how do I know this? Because she told me!”

Thorin sat in silence. Bilbo felt as if he could tear his hair out.

“Look,” he said in exasperated tones. “She wants to see you. What do you think I’m doing here?”

Thorin looked up with a gladness in his eyes. “She sent you?”

Bilbo looked uncomfortable. “Well, not exactly. She told me she wanted to see you, but I came here on my own initiative. Trying to sort things out between two stubborn people, you know.” 

Thorin paced up and down in front of his hall while Bilbo watched him. It was his pride that stopped him, Thorin knew. But pride had got him into a lot of trouble in the past and it was time to abandon it.

“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll go. When do we start?”

.o00o. 

When at last Thorin and Bilbo rode down into the beautiful valley and crossed the stream that led to Elrond Half-elven’s home in Rivendell, the little hobbit glanced up at the dwarf and said, “How’re you feeling, Thorin? Getting a bit anxious?”

“Yes, just a bit” said Thorin with a wry grin. “I haven’t seen her in such a long time.”

“How long is it now, then? A year?” asked Bilbo curiously.

“Eleven months, two weeks and one day,” Thorin replied.

Bilbo laughed. “My, that’s a precise answer. Someone’s keeping track.” He was silent for a moment and then said, “She’s changed a bit, you know.”

Thorin’s head snapped up. “Changed? What do you mean?”

“Oh....well....you’ll know what I mean when you see her.” And then they had arrived at the gate and there was no more time for conversation between them.

Elrond was pleased and angry at the same time. “You took your time, Thorin. I expected you months ago. You’re the most bloody-minded dwarf I know. Just like her horse. She named him after you, you know.”

“Did she?” said Thorin with a grin.

“She’s waiting for you,” Elrond went on. “Bilbo can show you to her room.”

Bilbo led him through the winding corridors and finally they came to her door. “I’ll leave you to it,” said the hobbit. “Just don’t mess it up this time. You’re getting a second chance.”

Thorin tapped on the door and, when he heard her voice, he quietly entered, feeling more afraid than when he had charged out to join the Battle of the Five Armies. It was a lovely room and she was standing with her back to him on a wide balcony overlooking the valley. Somehow he had expected her to be wearing her captain’s gear with her knives strapped to her back and her bow on her shoulder. Silly really, he thought. Instead, she was wearing a very similar gown to the one she had worn to Thranduil’s feast. It floated from her white shoulders and pooled on the floor about her feet. His heart beat so hard with love for her that he thought it would burst from his breast. Oh, to fold her in his arms! 

“Tauriel?” he said tentatively.

“Thorin?” she teased and turned smiling.

She was so beautiful that she took his breath away. He thought he could gaze at her face forever. But then his eyes drifted downwards – and he saw that she was heavily pregnant!

Thorin’s mind reeled and he struggled to make sense of it all. He hadn’t seen her for a year. The baby couldn’t be his - it was someone else’s – it must be Thranduil’s - the timing would be right. He wanted to storm and shout at her. He wanted to rage around the room. But Bilbo’s voice was still echoing in his ears: “Don’t mess it up......you’re getting a second chance.”

She was watching his face warily, looking to see his response. “Are you pleased or angry?” she asked.

What kind of a question was that, he thought? Why would he be pleased about another man’s child? And then he understood. She had known she could never have a child with him. But now she was pregnant and she must see it as some kind of wonderful twist of fate. They could have each other and they could have a child. She would have everything she wanted – and so would he.

With a huge effort, Thorin swallowed his pride. He walked swiftly across the room to her and took her in his arms. “Pleased, of course,” he whispered.

She took his face between her hands and kissed him with such love and passion that his senses reeled. They kissed for a long time and he tried to put into his lips all the things that he felt for her and had ever felt for her. He gave a long sigh, ran his hand down her silken hair and then knelt before her. Taking her hands in his, he brought them to his face and she felt his tears upon them. “I’m so sorry, Tauriel,” he said huskily.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she said and clumsily knelt down with him, cradling his head upon her breast. “It’s all right,” she said through her own tears. “We shall be happy now, my love. No more tears.”

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out an exquisite little box. “For you,” he said. And when she opened it, there lay a copy of the silver betrothal ring; and then he undid his shirt to show a copy of her ring about his neck. “When did you make these?” she asked in delight as he hung the ring about her throat again.

“A week after you left,” he said and looked up at her guiltily through his long lashes.

She seized his plaits and said: “You stupid, STUPID dwarf. What took you so long to come?”

And then they kissed and laughed and kissed again.

When they found Bilbo some time later, the hobbit fussed around them both in delight. In a private moment with Thorin, he patted him on the back. “Well done,” he said. “See you’ve taken the good news on the chin, like a man. Must have been a shock.”

“You could have warned me,” grumbled Thorin.

“Well, I did. Said she had changed. Not my place to tell you more than that.”

Then he made Tauriel sit down: “Get the weight off those legs, y’know,” and told Thorin that they couldn’t go back to Ered Luin because the baby was due any time. “Stay here and enjoy your time together. Relax. Don’t worry about a thing. Just do as you’re told.” And he waggled a stern finger.

They obeyed Bilbo and spent the next two weeks wandering through the beautiful valley together. The elves delighted in their love and wrote poetry and songs about it. There was no more talk about inappropriate unions between elf and dwarf and, in a quiet and beautiful ceremony, Elrond married them.

That night, he made love to her very gently and the world seemed to them a very wonderful place.

.o00o. 

At last, the day of Tauriel’s labour came. Thorin wondered if it would be a boy or a girl but hoped it would be a beautiful, golden-haired girl, just like her mother. But, although he cared less for the idea of a boy who looked just like Thranduil, he knew he would love any child of Tauriel’s and that it would make their family complete.

Elrond used his skills and special herbs to help her through the pain, but Thorin sat with her and was tortured by the whole business as she groaned and clutched his hand.

“Phew!” said Bilbo at one moment when Tauriel was resting and Thorin had left her room for a break. “This childbirth thing is a bit of a performance, isn’t it?” And Thorin fervently agreed.

Some hours later, the baby was finally born. “It’s a boy!” exclaimed Elrond joyfully, but just for a moment, Thorin felt a little sad. “And he looks just like his father!” Elrond continued as he wrapped him up and held him over for Thorin’s inspection.

Thorin was feeling confused again. Instead of a golden-haired child with pale, delicate features, there lay a strapping, grumpy-looking boy with jet-black hair and dazzling blue eyes. “He looks just like me!” he said.

“Well, of course he does,” said Tauriel. She had been helped up into a sitting position on the bed and now she held out her arms for the baby and rocked him, smiling with delight, on her breast. “Oh, he’s so beautiful,” she sighed, “and I just know he will grow up to be as handsome as his father.” Elrond smiled and crept out of the room, leaving the happy family together.

“But – but,” said Thorin, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, you did say you were leaving me something to remember you by,” she grinned.

“But that was a year ago. Can you explain how this child is mine? Help me, Tauriel. I really don’t understand,” he wailed.

Suddenly, a look of horror passed over her face. “Oh, my poor Thorin. You haven’t been thinking for these past two weeks that you were going to be the father of another man’s child?” He nodded dumbly. “And you were prepared to look after it and treat it as your own?” He nodded again. Tauriel reached out and stroked his cheek tenderly. “And do you wonder why I love you so much?” she asked.

“But you still haven’t explained,” he said.

“Well, you see, you lovely, lovely, STUPID dwarf, I thought you knew that an elven pregnancy lasts for twelve months and not nine!”

Thorin gaped at her for a good five seconds and then he said: “You’re right, I’m really, really stupid.” And then he leaned over and breathed in her ear, saying in a deep, throaty whisper, “But does the new father deserve a kiss now?”

And she answered: “Yes, I really, really think he does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes: elven pregnancies do, indeed, last 12 months according to Tolkien.
> 
> And NOW do they live happily ever after? Nope, LOL! Usually, a romance story finishes with a marriage and perhaps a birth and then the doors are discreetly closed upon the happy couple. But my saga begins with a baby because that’s often when the trouble starts.
> 
> Loads of chapters are all lined up ready to be posted. Next: Thorin Meets an Old Flame. Find out how Thorin copes as a new father. Do all those sleepless nights bring an end to his love life? And will the reappearance of a woman from his past bring temptations and an end to his relationship with Tauriel?


	3. Thorin Meets an Old Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tiredness! Ah, the tiredness! Can love, romance and s-e-x survive marriage and a baby? This chapter is dedicated to all parents. Thorin is feeling a bit short-changed in bed and then a dwarven woman from his past makes an appearance. She was once important to him and he remembers her for her powerful sexuality. Does Thorin still have feelings for her or does his love for Tauriel survive the assault that the woman makes upon his senses? Some violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made Frerin older than Thorin for the purposes of my story. Hope no-one minds.

Thorin Meets an Old Flame  
Pt I 

The warm sunshine threw a dappled light and shade upon Thorin as he lay on the grass beneath the tree outside his forge. His baby son was stretched out on his broad chest staring with wide-eyed fascination down at his father. His head wobbled as he struggled to hold it up and bear the weight and Thorin grinned at his determination. Blue eyes looked down into blue eyes and Thorin thought proudly that he had never seen a more beautiful child. Not that he had seen many children, mind you, but he was confident that this one was pretty remarkable. He lifted the boy above his head and Arion gurgled with laughter.

“Thorin!” shouted Tauriel from the door of their hall. “Bring that baby in at once. It’s not warm enough out there yet!”

“Looks like we’re in trouble again,” grinned Thorin, pulling a face. And Arion looked mournful too, imitating his father’s expression. Thorin gathered him up on his shoulder and entered the house. Tauriel was kneading dough and he leaned forward to kiss her on one floury cheek. “Shall I hold him for a bit longer until you finish?” he asked, hoping she would say “yes”, but she directed him to lay their baby in his cot and then shooed him back to the forge.

As he sat up to his work bench and fashioned a lovely gold bangle, Thorin wondered if he had ever been happier. He had his craft, he had a beautiful wife and son, he lived in a quiet and peaceful spot – what more could a dwarf want? Well, perhaps a good night’s sleep. And perhaps a bit more intimacy with Tauriel than he had been able to engineer since the baby had been born at The Last Homely House. Yes, that would be nice.

“Be patient with her,” Elrond had said to him as he had waved them off when the baby was a month old. That was three months ago. It was wonderful to be back at last where he could create a home for them all and he had set about turning the “lady bower” into a nursery.

“There,” he had said to her. “I told you that every woman needed a bower.” She hugged him and thanked him for the charmingly carved cot he had made and set about adding to it with an embroidered pillow and coverlet.

“And every man needs a bower too,” he grinned to himself. This would be the first night that the baby hadn’t shared their bed and he was really looking forward to some private time with his wife. But when they got into bed that night, she snuggled into his arms and immediately fell asleep. Thorin groaned. “I am trying, Elrond,” he muttered. “I really am.”

Another time, he packed his tools away at mid-day and told her that he was taking the rest of the day off. It was a beautiful afternoon in early summer and they took food down to the river. He made her sit and rest whilst he played with Arion for hours, walking with him and showing him birds and flowers, dangling his toes in the water, jumping him up and down on his knees. Tauriel dozed in the sun whilst he deliberately kept Arion awake. He smiled at the success of his scheme.

As the sun set that evening, Arion immediately fell asleep in his cot and, picking up Tauriel in his arms, he swept her off to their room for an early night. They climbed into their big feather bed, giggling quietly. He undid the cord at the neck of her pretty nightgown and slid the garment from her shoulders, nuzzling her neck and running his hands over her breasts. She held him tightly and murmured his name. He was just pushing up the hem of her gown and she was just breathing hotly in his ear – when Arion started crying. She froze in his arms and then, with a sigh, pulled herself away from him. “I think you got him a bit over-excited today, Thorin,” she said as she left the room.

“Oh, so it’s my fault,” muttered Thorin to himself, thumping his pillow in frustration. She was gone for an hour and Thorin was snoring by the time she returned. A few hours later, Arion woke up again. “’S’alright,” he said groggily. “I’ll go this time.” She reached up and pulled his face down to hers. “Thank you, my love,” she whispered, and she kissed him deeply making him wonder if it was possible to ignore the baby’s screams and climb back into bed.

Nope, it wasn’t. “Stay awake,” he commanded her sternly. “I won’t be long.” Half an hour later, he hurried back to their room and she was still awake. He flung off his nightshirt and, grinning in expectation, he jumped back into bed, clasping her in his arms.

Tauriel yelped quietly: “Get off! Get off! You’re freezing! Warm yourself up first.” By the time he was warm, she was fast asleep again. Thorin sighed. There were aspects to being a father that he was just not prepared for. 

And so the days wore on: joy and delight by day, frustration and disappointment by night. 

Thorin came in from the forge and watched Tauriel as she balanced Arion on one hip and tried to stir the stew at the same time. He kissed first his son and then his wife on her delicate throat and sighed. She understood the cause of his gloom and said gently: “It won’t last forever, you know. He just needs to grow up a bit.”

He took the spoon from her hand and, putting it down, wrapped his arms around them both. “And how long does it take a baby to grow up a bit?” he asked.

She lay her head on his chest, enjoying the feeling of his powerful arms protecting them. It was comforting and comfortable and she felt as though she could shut her eyes and go to sleep right there and then. “Well, it varies.” Tauriel tried to sound positive. “But I expect he’ll be sleeping well at night in at least a year – perhaps a lot sooner.”

Thorin groaned. A whole year! Could he hold out that long? He nibbled the pretty tip of her pointed ear and then said: “I have to travel down to the Grey Havens soon to deliver commissions and buy more supplies. Can you manage on your own for a few days?” The thought made him anxious.

“Well,” she mused, “I could visit Dis. I know she’d love to see how her nephew’s growing. She only saw him that once when we came home.”

He was equally unhappy about her travelling on her own and offered to escort her but she tutted that he was fussing. She could get there within half a day and would go fully armed with bow and knives. “I’m not helpless, you know that.”

Yes, he knew it but it was still a strange, uneasy feeling when they parted and he was no longer there to keep them safe.

However, after some hours of travelling, Tauriel approached the dwarven halls safely and in one piece with Arion strapped to her chest in a woollen sling. The warmth of his mother’s body and the gentle swaying of the horse meant that he had slept for most of the way. She giggled to herself as she remembered that awful night when the baby had screamed constantly and, in desperation, Thorin had put him in the sling and had then ridden round and round the forge until Arion had finally nodded off. What a wonderful father he was! So good with the child, so rugged, so tender, so handsome, such a muscular chest, such strong arms, such powerful thighs, such......” Tauriel shook herself and dragged herself away from her thoughts. They just had to be patient.

She hadn’t visited these halls for more than a year, not since that time when a bunch of dwarves and men had shown disgust at her betrothal to Thorin. She was not too apprehensive about her return because dwarven masons and carpenters had worked on their hall since then and they had been pleasant and apologetic. She guessed that it had all blown over, now that everyone had got used to the idea. But, as she entered the settlement, a small group turned to stare. Their unfriendly eyes followed her down the path and she felt very uncomfortable.

Dis was thrilled to see her and was overcome with emotion when she saw how Arion had grown. He was a big, strong baby with a mop of black hair and startling blue eyes, just like Thorin’s. The child was very beautiful, she thought, so like his father in many ways – and yet there was something about him that reminded her of the beauty of elves. He would be tall, she was sure, and would have his mother’s grace.

“Oh, Tauriel,” she sighed, as she nursed him on her lap. “He reminds me of my own sons. I knew he would.” And she wiped away a tear. Tauriel hugged her and the two women sat there together for a long time, just looking in wonder and admiration at the lovely boy.

After they had eaten, they sat down for a cosy chat together. Tauriel had spent most of her life with soldiers and had never had many women friends amongst the elves and so it was a new and comfortable feeling to be exchanging thoughts about husbands and children with Dis. Dis recalled the first years of her own marriage and how life had changed once her boys were born.

Arion was asleep at his mother’s breast and they were laughing about the disturbances that had to be endured at night when Tauriel suddenly looked away and said: “Arion has brought so much into my life but I sometimes wonder about the things we have lost and if our marriage will ever be the same.”

Dis patted her arm. “It will never be the same. It will always be different. But the two of you can make it better than it ever was before. You just have to work at it.”

Tauriel smiled wanly. “I’m so tired,” she sighed. “All the time. We never get a single good night’s sleep. And we never.......” She tailed off, but Dis knew what she meant and patted her arm again.

“Well, perhaps something can be done about that,” she said. “Have you ever thought of hiring a nurse? Someone who would look after Arion, particularly at night?”

Tauriel’s face brightened. “What a wonderful idea, Dis! That would be perfect!” Then her face fell. “But where do you think I could find a nurse?”

Dis raised a conspiratorial finger. “Just leave it to me. I think I’ll introduce you to a likely contender for the position when you’ve recovered from your journey tomorrow.”

The next morning Dis told her about a dwarf woman called Kagris who had just arrived from the Iron Hills. She and Thorin and their brother, Frerin, had known her when they were young and lived in Erebor before the dragon came. They were much of an age and they had played together when she was visiting relatives but, now that she was a grown woman, she was a herbalist and sometimes travelled to different dwarven settlements selling her potions and her skills.

Dis bustled off to visit Kagris and to ask her about their proposal whilst Tauriel sat there rocking Arion, pleasantly wondering about this potential new addition to their family. When Dis returned with Kagris a short time later, beaming and looking very pleased with herself, Tauriel blinked with surprise. She had been imagining some dumpy, homely, dwarven woman with greying hair. But Kagris was quite striking. She was as tall as Thorin and her figure, far from being squat and dumpy, was statuesque and shapely. She had full breasts and rounded hips and her hair fell, long and heavy and a vivid dark red, almost to her waist.

Arion had just woken up and he fidgeted and grizzled restlessly. Kagris smiled with her wide mouth and held out her arms. She took him expertly from Tauriel and sat down with him, rocking him and humming a little song in an undertone. Miraculously, or so it seemed to Tauriel, he snuggled into her pillowy bosom and, within minutes, was fast asleep.

“I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed and felt a huge surge of confidence in this woman who obviously knew exactly what to do.

“I’ve always been good with babies,” the woman smiled back, her green eyes dancing. “I think I’ve just got what it takes.” She looked down at her ample breasts and the other two women laughed.

Kagris had just been about to return to the Iron Hills but she was more than willing to stay on and help Tauriel. Some generous terms were negotiated and Dis served a celebratory slice of cake. They chatted for a long while, discussing babies and other pleasant things, and, by the time that Kagris was ready to leave, Tauriel was feeling as if all her troubles were over. They would set off together for the forge on the following day, just as Thorin was due to return. He would be so surprised!

Kagris handed a sleepy Arion back to Tauriel. “I would have known Thorin’s child anywhere,” she murmured in her smoky voice. “So handsome.” She kissed the baby on the forehead and, for a moment, Tauriel wasn’t sure if she were talking about the father or the son. 

.o00o. 

Pt II 

As the elf and her dwarven nurse rode out together the next morning, Tauriel with the baby strapped to her chest again, her heart lifted and she felt that it was a very lovely day. Her optimism lasted only a short distance. They passed a field where a number of men and dwarves were leaning on the gate. The group had been staring at them sullenly all the way down the lane as they approached and, when they passed – with Tauriel trying to ignore them – one of them muttered something that she didn’t quite catch. 

She decided to face the antagonism head on and, reining in her horse, she turned and looked the man in the eye, saying in her best arrogantly-elven voice: “You said something?”

Without a flicker, the man looked straight back and in slow, loud tones he enunciated clearly: “I said, the brat was an abomination and that it should be exposed on the mountainside.”

Tauriel turned white and, for a moment, she was frozen in her saddle. Then, with a cry, she reached over her shoulder for her knife. But, before her hand touched the hilt, Kagris had seized her wrist and whispered “no” quietly and urgently in her ear. “Think about the child.”

And she was right, of course. Her baby must be put first and he was in a very exposed position – not exactly the right place for a fight. Tauriel breathed in deeply and, with a contemptuous glance at the group, she rode on. Their laughter followed her down the lane.

She was still shaking when, a mile later, Kagris made her stop. The dwarf woman leaned over and took her hand. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s over.”

“Something like that can never be over,” Tauriel replied fiercely. “They’ll pay for that remark.”

“Well, be careful how you go about making them pay,” the dwarf said. “Those weren’t just stupid farm labourers, you know. They were wearing weapons. The men are mercenaries and the dwarves are hardened veterans from the goblin wars.”

Tauriel smiled shakily and squeezed Kagris’ hand. “It’s lucky that I’ve got you with me,” she said. “Thank you for keeping us safe.”

The rest of the trip was uneventful and they had a pleasant ride, chatting together and singing to the baby. Thorin still wasn’t there when they arrived that afternoon and so Tauriel began to prepare food for an evening meal and directed Kagris off down to the river with Arion.

But soon he came. He swept into the room, smelling of horses and leather, and, lifting her off the floor, kissed her hard and breathed: “I’ve missed you, Tauriel.” But then he looked over her shoulder through the open door of the nursery and then he scanned the room and said anxiously: “Where is he? Where’s Arion?”

She laughed and said: “It’s all right, don’t worry. He’s down by the river with his new nurse.”

“His nurse? He’s ill?” Thorin was beginning to panic.

“No, stupid,” smiled Tauriel, kissing him gently. “Not that sort of nurse. This is a wonderful dwarf woman who will help me look after him.” She paused, and grinned. “Especially at night.”

“At night?” he echoed. And then he laughed and, hugging her to him, he kissed her soundly. “I just can’t wait,” he whispered in her ear.

But Tauriel pushed him away and sent him down to the river to meet the new arrival whilst she got on with the meal.

Thorin felt elated. At last, an answer to their problem. He could hear a woman singing softly beyond a line of trees and he smiled because it was a song his mother used to sing to him as a child: “The wind was on the withered heath.” Rather a mournful song, as so many dwarven songs were, but babies seemed to like it. The woman had a rich contralto that was very pleasing and, as he approached, Thorin couldn’t help but join in, his deep baritone harmonising well with that of the nurse:

“There shadows lay by night and day/And dark things silent crept beneath.”

He came through the circle of trees – and stopped in his tracks. An idyllic, domestic scene lay before him. The river danced and sparkled over rocky stones; the trees rustled slightly in a cool breeze; his son was sleeping in a wicker baby basket tied to the branch of a tree and a woman was gently pushing the basket to and fro as she sang. The woman had dark, red hair which tumbled down her back to her waist. He couldn’t move.

The woman turned and smiled with that wide, soft mouth he remembered so well. 

“Kagris!” he gasped.

“Thorin,” she said huskily. 

She walked towards him and stood very close. She had always done that, he thought, disturbing all the dwarven youth of the Lonely Mountain with her nearness. “So,” she said softly, “you remember me.” Her green eyes looked at him through long lashes and held him in a mesmerising stare.

Yes, he remembered her. She was difficult to forget. She had visited the Lonely Mountain from the Iron Hills on a regular basis when he was young and as he grew into manhood. He had been one of those young dwarves who had followed her around, gazing at her, adoring her, hoping that she would drop the tiniest crumb from her table, however small. She had teased him, ruffling his hair and sometimes blowing him a kiss, but she had a huge number of admirers, some of them rich and powerful dwarf-lords, and among them was his older brother, Frerin, heir to the throne of Durin. 

Thorin’s infatuation reached a peak when he had come upon Frerin kissing her; they were locked in an embrace on the grass together and she was kissing him back in a wild and unrestrained way that had left Thorin breathless. He hated his brother at that moment and his jealousy caused a breach between the two of them. Frerin laughed and wanted to know why she would ever be interested in a “boy” and Thorin sulked and dreamed about sweeping her off her feet, winning her from right under his brother’s nose. All these youthful emotions came to a bitter conclusion when his brother was killed at the Battle of Azanulbizar and Thorin finally became a man.

He hadn’t seen her for years and now she was standing so close that all his memories of her threatened to overwhelm him. She touched his cheek and her eyes seemed to hypnotise him. Like a spell, he thought. And he remembered the skills that she had developed as she got older. These were not just those of a herbalist. 

On some days, she would appear at the entrance to the forges, deep down inside the Mountain. She would stand there, dressed in long, white robes, and the smiths, including Thorin, would respectfully cease from their hammering. She would move – to Thorin, it always seemed as if she floated – from furnace to furnace, casting some aromatic powder into the flames and chanting as she moved. She was binding the metal with ancient and mighty spells and the blades that she empowered and the wrought gold and silver that received her enchantment were infused with such beauty that dwarves and elves and men lusted after them.

There were not many like her who had the power but it drained those who used it and, in the end, Kagris possessed it no more. But, at that moment, as he lost himself in those green eyes, Thorin felt her old magic.

With a huge effort of will, he stepped away from her and turned to his son. “And so you’re his new nurse?” he asked. “How has that come about?”

He had broken the link that she had tried to establish between them and so she answered sweetly, “Your wife needed me and I agreed to help. She is a very lovely woman and you have a very beautiful child.” 

Her flattery softened him and he helped her take down the wicker basket and carried his son back to the hall.

Tauriel laughed when she saw them return together. “Now, wasn’t that a surprise for you, Thorin? Dis told me that you were all friends when you were younger.” Well, perhaps “friend” wasn’t quite the word he would have used, but Thorin smiled pleasantly and said that, indeed, it had been a wonderful surprise.

They ate an enjoyable meal together, the women talking and laughing as if they had known each other for years. Kagris fitted in well, moving easily from table to baby when the need arose, feeding him and rocking him quickly back to sleep, efficiently working in the kitchen and tidying up so that, magically, the evening passed smoothly and quietly with Tauriel and Thorin hardly moving from their chairs.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” exclaimed Tauriel, hugging the dwarven woman to her. Kagris set down a tray of mulled wine, made to a special recipe of her own and flavoured with some of the herbs that she stored in her pouch. It was delicious and they sat around talking of this and that in a desultory fashion whilst they sipped it.

“Have you ever been married?” asked Tauriel.

“Yes, twice. My first husband was killed in the goblin wars and my second just recently at the Battle of the Five Armies. Sadly,” she said, gazing down at Arion who was lying in her lap, “I’ve had no children of my own.”

Tauriel touched her arm in gentle sympathy.

“Many good men, elves and dwarves died that day,” said Thorin sombrely.

“And mine was one of them,” agreed Kagris. “But now I must make my own way in the world.”

Tauriel had to admit to herself secretly that she was glad of this and was very pleased that Kagris’ path had brought her to Dis’ settlement that day.

They made up a bed for her in the nursery and Kagris took Tauriel’s hand and told her that she was not to worry about a thing. If she heard Arion crying then she was not to come running – his nurse would look after him.

And so, Thorin retired to bed with his wife. She lay in his arms, smiling. “Alone at last,” she whispered.

“Not quite,” he retorted and they listened for a moment to Kagris moving around with Arion in the other room.

She kissed his throat and then she planted a series of little kisses across his chest. He murmured her name, kissing and stroking her hair. Then she touched him and he let out a deep groan.

“Sshhh,” she whispered. “Kagris will hear us.”

“But, I can’t shush,” he protested, “not if you touch me there.” 

“Well, now that Kagris is here, perhaps you should try.”

He rolled away from her with a sigh. “I just can’t do it, not while Kagris is in the other room. I just can’t.”

They argued for a little while in fierce whispers and then went to sleep.

Kagris heard the whispers resolve themselves in silence, smiled and went to sleep too.

.o00o.  
Pt III 

The next day was an enjoyable one for Tauriel. Usually she was on her own with Arion, struggling one-handedly with other tasks whilst Thorin worked in the forge. Now, Kagris worked alongside her, making everything seem easy and fun. How had she managed without her? Thorin had found some rabbits in his traps and the dwarf woman was putting together what promised to be a delicious rabbit pie whilst bouncing Arion in a sling she had constructed in the nursery doorway. The baby was shrieking with delight as he jumped up and down and watched the two women in his life set about their household chores.

Tauriel put out some bread and cheese for their mid-day meal, but Thorin seemed involved in his work and preferred to stay in his forge. She took a plate out to him and he stopped his hammering, coming over to her and and sliding his arms around her waist. He reminded her of the first time they had shared a meal together. “We ate your lembas bread and my cheese and sat at this table. I couldn’t stop looking at you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I really wanted you, but I was too pigheaded to admit it to myself. Did you realise I was hoping you would stay with me that night?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “I wanted to stay too. But it seemed so impossible – an elf and a dwarf.”

“Everything about us seems impossible, including Arion,” he said. And he ran his hands through her silken hair, feeling the strands slide through his fingers. “And everything about you feels impossibly good,” he whispered, and his hands fumbled for the buttons on her shirt. But she gently pushed him away and went back to the hall.

It was a warm day and, after she had sat with Kagris shelling peas in the sun, Tauriel began to feel sleepy. “Why don’t you take an afternoon nap with Arion on the bed,” the dwarf woman suggested. I’ll finish off preparing the vegetables and then perhaps see if I can clean out the forge a bit.

“I’ll doubt if Thorin will let you mess around with his forge,” Tauriel laughed, “but you can try.”

She took Arion and lay down with him on the feather bed and soon they were both fast asleep.

Kagris stood in the entrance to the forge. Thorin was aware of her but continued with his hammering. “Tauriel’s asleep,” she said, “but she thought I might tidy the forge a bit.” Between the beats of the hammer, he grunted that he would prefer it if she left things alone. But she still came in, examining the long line of tools set out in an orderly fashion on his work table. The tips of her fingers ran lightly over them. Their edges were sharp and their wooden parts were smooth and polished from use. She picked up a chisel and stroked its shiny handle, looking at him as she did so. “Put it down,” he snapped. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

She put it down carefully and smiled. “You were always grumpy, Thorin,” she said.

She wandered over to the furnace. “How I loved the dwarven forges in the Lonely Mountain,” she said softly. “The smell of sweat and burning charcoal and hot metal. The beating of hammers on anvils. The sheer power of all those smiths working to produce swords and tools and things of beauty.”

And she walked behind him and, delicately touching his shoulder, traced the line of his muscles from shoulder to elbow. A tremor ran through him and he stopped working.

“What are you doing, Kagris?” he asked, and his voice came out in a rasp.

“Remembering,” she said softly. “Do you remember, too?”

“Yes, I remember, Kagris,” he answered tersely. “I remember the lust, the desire, the wanting, the pain. And, in particular, I remember your teasing and the way you played off me and my brother, one against the other.”

She was very close and her lips brushed his shoulder. Thorin’s stomach clenched.

“Ah, yes, but you were so young then. Who would have thought that an awkard young lad with a mane of black hair would have grown up to be such a man. Who wouldn’t want Thorin Oakenshield in their bed?” And her breath was hot upon his neck.

He stood immobile for a few moments, feeling her closeness. But then he raised his hammer again and said: “Go back to the house, Kagris. You won’t find what you want here.”

“Won’t I?” she murmured. “I just think I might.” And she laughed her teasing laugh and sauntered out of the door.

That evening as they sat eating the rabbit pie, Tauriel finally found the courage to tell Thorin what had happened on their way back from visiting Dis. She could only guess at his reaction and was reluctant to stir up trouble for them all. When she told him how their child had been called an “abomination”, he roared and rose to his feet. For a moment she almost thought he was going to seize his sword and take his revenge that very night.

She put a calming hand on his arm. “Kagris saved us,” she said. “I forgot I had Arion around my neck and I was all ready to kill them. But Kagris stopped me and, as we rode away, she pointed out that they were armed mercenaries and veterans.”

He sat down again and Kagris said calmly: “These are things you must face together. Your relationship will always be unacceptable to some and you must harden yourselves to their words. They are only words and you must forget about them.”

That night, in bed, Thorin comforted Tauriel. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone on your own,” he said.

“But, if you had been with me, things might have been worse. Kagris was wonderful. I can imagine she must have been a very special member of your group when you were younger.” 

All this talk of Kagris made him even more aware of the dwarf woman on the other side of the thin wooden walls. The thought of her listening to him making love to Tauriel cooled his ardour once more. He had a feeling that, although things would come to a fight – with both women – Kagris would have to go, whatever the cost. As usual, he lay on his back finding it difficult to get to sleep.

.o00o. 

Kagris was also awake, pleased with the silence from the other room. Every night, she made sure that Thorin was aware of her, bustling around in the nursery, sometimes even disturbing Arion slightly so that he grizzled which resulted in her singing to him in her low, husky voice. She sang loudly enough for Thorin to hear.

She always got what she wanted and she would have Thorin. After the death of her second husband, she had looked around the Iron Hills and there were no suitable admirers to choose from. Moreover, many of them, over the years, had grown tired of her flirting. Two husbands were dead and they had also begun to see her as unlucky. Her thoughts roamed further abroad – and settled on Thorin. He was recovering from battle wounds in the halls of the Lonely Mountain – and he was a fabulously wealthy king. But then, suddenly, he gave up his crown to Dain and disappeared back off to Ered Luin to be a smith – or, at least that’s how the rumours had it. However, he had still received a hefty share of the dragon’s hoard so, in the end, she packed up her herbs and potions and set off on a journey to the Blue Mountains to visit his sister, Dis. 

She was shocked when she learned of his marriage to an elf. And there was a baby too. She listened to the gossip and realised that some felt quite extreme revulsion; many thought that the marriage couldn’t last and that he would cast her off. An elven marriage was forever but this was not a purely elven marriage. It wasn’t, in fact, purely anything. When Dis came to her, suggesting that she offered her services as a nurse, it was as if fate were throwing Thorin in her way.

And when she saw him again, she knew she must have him, by whatever means.

.o00o. 

PT IV 

The next day, Thorin was working in his forge as usual, Tauriel took Arion down to the river and Kagris was left to tidy up. But, soon she wandered into the forge again. She placed her hand on the bellows and asked him teasingly: “Shall I stoke your fire, Thorin? Or is it hot enough?”

Thorin lay down his tools firmly and with determination.

“Kagris,” he said, “you have a week to pack up and leave. You’re not wanted here and I would prefer that you left me and my family on our own.”

She seemed undisturbed by his remark and, moving in closely to him, she said: “Well, I think that Tauriel will have something to say about that, don’t you? She really can’t do without me, you know. What reasons are you going to give for my dismissal? That, before her, I was the woman you desired most in the world and you find my presence disturbing? That you fought with your brother over me? That you can’t make love to her or sleep at night for thinking of me?” And she reached up and played with the silver betrothal ring hanging about his neck.

“How long is it,” she murmured, “since you two made love? How long will it be before she lets you bed her again? Children do that to a marriage, you know. Her love for you has changed into her love for Arion. I doubt if she wants you any more.” Her finger traced a pattern across his chest and Thorin stood very still. “Now me, I never had children. I understand these matters, you see.” And she leaned forward, pressing her breasts against him, and kissed him. Her hand ran behind his neck, tangling in his hair, and she held his lips against hers, her mouth slanting sideways, her tongue entwined with his own.

For a moment, his body nearly betrayed him and he responded, but then he pushed her away with a cry of disgust. “Stop playing your games, Kagris,” he snarled. “You have two days. And I shall find a way to explain things to my wife.”

She gave him a disbelieving smile and went back to the house.

That evening, Tauriel hummed happily around the kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice the tension that existed between her husband and her nurse. Kagris worked alongside her, preparing her mulled wine for later that evening, and then fussed over Arion and got him ready for bed. 

The meal passed pleasantly enough, mainly because the two women found many things to discuss; then all three sat relaxing on the hall’s comfortable chairs, sipping the mulled wine and exchanging details of their day. Occasionally, Kagris looked at Thorin over the rim of her cup and he almost thought that she was about to say something damning about their relationship to punish him for his rejection of her. But, all she did was look at him in that disturbing way of hers.

“Kagris,” said Tauriel, “you really must tell me how you make this wine – what herbs you put in it.”

“Well, said Kagris, “the special trick is to know each guest and then to put in different herbs in different cups that will be just right for each of them.” She looked at Thorin again. “I’m sure I know you two very well by now and I hope I have chosen precisely the herbs that you need.”

Tauriel exclaimed over her cleverness but Thorin, for some reason, felt uneasy.

The evening wore on and Tauriel suddenly yawned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said with a smile. “I’ve had such an easy day but I just can’t keep my eyes open. I must go to bed.” She rose and Thorin moved to go with her. “No, it’s all right, Thorin,” she said, “you can keep Kagris company for a bit longer. She must get fed up with all these early nights.”

Thorin sat down again; he knew that she just wanted to go to sleep and was dismissing his company. He took another swig of his wine. He really didn’t want to be left on his own with Kagris and he glowered at her from under his dark brows, but she only smiled back.

When Tauriel was gone, he continued drinking. He really couldn’t see that he had an obligation to talk with her. “Cat got your tongue?” she said with an amused look in her green eyes. He ignored her and raised his wine to his lips once more.......but he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she was waiting for something.

He finally drained his cup and said: “I think I’ve kept Tauriel waiting long enough.” And he went to get out of his chair. But the room spun and he fell back down again. Damn! That wine was potent, he thought. Now he would have to go drunk to Tauriel’s bed. Kagris laughed softly and he looked across at her. She seemed to be surrounded by a golden haze and he rubbed his eyes. 

“Ah, Thorin,” she said in a dark and sultry voice that echoed inside his head, “how like your brother you are at times. Such a handsome, fiery young dwarf lord as he was. Do you remember that day you found us?”

Yes, Thorin remembered. He had been out hunting and had come across them in a leafy glade.

“You were so angry. So jealous. You wanted to kill him, didn’t you? And he could have killed you too because you interrupted us in the middle of the act. Do you remember, Thorin? You watched us for a while from behind a tree. Do you remember?” And her voice became sing-song and seemed to drag him back into the past. He looked on the floor and he could see them on the grass, half-naked, a tangle of arms and legs and red hair. “You watched us, didn’t you?” she crooned. “You wanted so much to be your brother at that moment – lying on the grass with stones digging into your back with me on top of you and my red hair falling over your face. Just imagine......” and her voice trailed off. And suddenly he was Frerin. He felt the damp grass and the sharp stones; he felt her full breasts brushing his naked chest as she straddled him. Her hair was like a silken curtain all around them, screening him from the world, so that all he could think about was her. He was panting with desire and she was whispering urgently in his ear: “Finish it, Frerin! Finish it now!” And he pulled her down towards him......

“Thorin!” screamed Tauriel in an anguished voice. His first response was anger because someone had stopped him in what he was doing. And then he felt horror as he opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor with most of his clothes scattered beside him and with Kagris lying half-naked on top of him. She was laughing. But Tauriel stood in the door, her eyes wide with their betrayal. Thorin tried to thrust the dwarf woman away and get to his feet but he couldn’t; his limbs seemed leaden and cold. He felt locked in a nightmare where he waded slowly through deep water whilst the real world rushed past him. As he struggled to his knees, he saw Tauriel cross the room with Arion in his sling and, although he reached out to her with a slow and heavy gesture, she was gone and, moments later it seemed, he heard the sound of hooves galloping away.

He pulled himself to his feet but Kagris still sat there laughing. She held out her arms and said, “Come back down on the grass, Thorin. She’s not coming back, you know. Let her go. Let her return to the elves where she belongs. You belong here with me.” And she patted the floor and, for a moment, it seemed like grass again.

“What have you done to me?” he gasped. “The wine...”

“What have I done, Thorin?” she replied. “I only gave you what you wanted all those years ago. And what I know you still want,” she purred, rising and taking him in her arms.

He pushed her roughly away from him and his lip curled. “Do you really think that I could want you more than I want my beautiful wife?” He looked at her with disgust. “You were just a boy’s fantasy. Tauriel is not a fantasy; she is real and the sort of woman that a man wants.” He had put on his clothes and was making for the door. “Don’t be here when I get back,” he said.

He guessed that she would first go to Dis to get help for her onward journey but when he thought of the insults and aggression she had received at the settlement, he was afraid. He went to the forge and ran his head under the pump, trying to dispel the fogginess that still slowed his movements. And then, from their hiding place, he took Orcrist and his axe, and slipped on his coat of chain mail. Then he saddled his horse and thundered after her.

.o00o. 

Tauriel just wanted to get as far away from Thorin and the forge as possible. The image of her half-naked husband lying on the floor, groaning and panting and clasping Kagris in his arms, was seared upon her memory. Why hadn’t she known? Why didn’t she guess? They had been young together. Kagris was a beautiful dwarf woman. She belonged to his race. What dwarf wouldn’t want her? And she had practically thrown Kagris at him, leaving them together, giving them opportunities to seek out one another’s company. She wondered what had happened in the forge when she had slept the other afternoon. Kagris had even had the gall to tell her she was going there; and yet she had suspected nothing. She wondered at her own naivety.

Well, they could have each other. She would return to Mirkwood and raise her son on her own. The other elves would give her patronising looks as if to say that they had been right all along. And, of course, they had been. You can never trust a dwarf! If only she had remembered that, then perhaps she would not now be in so much pain.

And so she rode on in the dark.

Morning had come when she neared her destination. She was very, very tired and only her concern for Arion kept her awake. And then she turned a corner to find six of them – three men and three dwarves – strung out across the road. They must have seen her coming, she thought, but they gave her little time to react. One grabbed her reins and the horse reared. If she had been on her own, this would not have been a problem, but her hands flew to protect Arion and two of the men pulled her from her horse. The dwarf woman who had insulted her when she first came suddenly stepped out from behind a tree and, cutting through her sling with a sharp knife, tore Arion from her arms.

The men held her tightly and the woman stepped away with Arion. Tauriel screamed for her to give her back her child but she only hurried further away behind the line of villagers.

“You shouldn’t have come back with that abomination,” said a swarthy dwarf. “You bring shame to our race and your own.” 

“Don’t hurt him,” she wept but they only laughed at her tears. “What are you going to do with him?” she cried.

“We’re taking him to the mountain where he should have been taken when he was born,” they said. “The wolves can have him.”

“I think not,” rumbled a deep voice; and, suddenly, the head of one of the men who was holding her was swept from his shoulders by a bright axe. The other released her with a startled look of horror on his face and Tauriel leaped back to stand beside her husband, her long knives scraping from their scabbards as she did so.

They felt no mercy and showed none. The remaining men and dwarves drew their weapons but Tauriel’s flashing blades and Thorin’s sword and axe swept lethally among them and soon all were lying dead or dying by the roadside. The dwarf woman clutched a crying Arion to her but Thorin pressed Orcrist to her throat and said: “Give the baby back to his mother,” and, with trembling hands, she did so. Then they let her run away.

Thorin led Tauriel gently back to his horse. He lifted her and Arion onto his saddle and then mounted behind her, letting Tauriel’s horse trot obediently behind. He clasped them both tightly in his arms – the things he loved most in the world – and slowly and gently they rode home, back to the forge. 

Kagris was gone. “She won’t be coming back,” he said.

He put Arion in his cot where he slept soundly and he carried Tauriel to their bed where he undressed her and tucked her in like a child. Then he made her food and drink and sat by her bed like a strict parent until she had finished it. And then he took off his own clothes and climbed into the bed beside her.

They faced each other with their heads on the pillow and Kagris lay like a shadow between them. 

“Tell me,” she said. 

And so he told her about his youthful lust for Kagris and how she had sought him out in Ered Luin and how he had rejected her. And then he told her about the hallucination when he had believed that he was Frerin.

“I shall never forget seeing you two together,” she said. And his heart was torn in two when he saw her pain. “I know, my love,” he whispered, “but perhaps I can make the memory of it fade.” She kissed him then and held him tightly against her breast. And they made love tenderly and slept in each other’s arms all night until Arion woke them in the morning.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those dead bodies! Well, you don’t get away with that sort of thing easily but the consequences of this don’t come home to roost for quite a few more chapters.
> 
> Next chapter: Thorin to the Rescue. In this, Tauriel becomes a bit restless with just being a housewife and a mother. Will Gandalf come up with a solution and will it take her into danger? Lostwithiel, the unpleasant elf from Thranduil’s court makes a re-appearance and presents a danger of another kind. Will he become the new hate figure both for my readers and, eventually, for Thorin? Well, get used to him: he’ll be around for a long, long time, LOL!


	4. Thorin to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arion is growing up. But how content is Tauriel with just being a wife and a mother? Is there an alternative, has Gandalf got an answer and will Thorin be grumpy about it? Tauriel puts herself in danger in more ways than one and Lostwithiel, the unpleasant Mirkwood elf who did so much stirring in Thorin and the Silver Rings, returns as the character we all love to hate. I think that, after this story, it will take another 30 chapters and a lot of hard work from me before he redeems himself.
> 
> And the burning question is: Why does everyone insist on banging on the door when Thorin and Tauriel are trying to have a romantic lie-in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Attempted rape and some violence.

THORIN TO THE RESCUE  
PT I 

As the rising sun filtered through the bedroom windows, Thorin thought there was absolutely no other place he’d rather be. He snuggled up closer to the sleeping Tauriel and, with a wicked grin, calculated that there was at least an hour before their son, Arion, was likely to wake up. He nuzzled her neck and murmured her name, gently trying to rouse her. At last, she stirred, and sleepily kissed him on the nose. He took this to be an encouraging sign and, slipping an arm around her, pulled her to him, pressing his full length against her own. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, wriggling more closely into his arms. He let out a passionate sigh.

Someone knocked loudly at the door.

They were both startled by this unexpected caller. “Quickly!” said Tauriel. “Get dressed, Thorin!” She could hear Arion stirring and, as Thorin threw on some clothes, she pulled a robe about her shoulders too.

Thorin padded bare-foot across the hall feeling very hard done by. “They had better have a good reason,” he muttered to himself, as he flung open the door. He took a step back in surprise when he found Lostwithiel, the only elf from Thranduil’s court who had been pleasant to him two years earlier, standing on the doorstep with a cheerful smile on his face.

“Ah, Thorin,” he said. “Hope it’s not too early for you, but I’m just passing through on my way to the Grey Havens and I’ve got a few things for Tauriel from Mirkwood.” He peered over Thorin’s shoulder and saw Tauriel – a delightfully dishevelled vision – standing with her son on her hip and looking curiously at him. He invited himself in, brushing past Thorin, and raised her hand to his lips. “I apologise for the early hour,” he murmured, looking up from her hand with a charmingly boyish grin. “As beautiful as ever.” She smiled back warmly and dismissed his concerns, inviting him to sit at the table and saying that she would cook them all some breakfast.

“Hadn’t you better get dressed first?” said Thorin brusquely. She was still in her embroidered robe and he noticed Lostwithiel’s eyes wandering over her. He took Arion from her and she disappeared off to the bedroom and then to the kitchen.

Thorin didn’t know what it was about elves, but even pleasant ones like Lostwithiel made him feel awkward, coarse and clumsy with their graceful movements, witty conversation and smooth, beardless faces. Lostwithiel sat down and chatted easily about his journey from Thranduil’s court in Mirkwood. “There’s trouble on the northern borders,” he said. “And it’s moving south. After the Battle of the Five Armies, many orcs and goblins dispersed and we’ve had a quiet time of it, but now they’re regrouping. There’s a meeting in the Grey Havens. I’m Thranduil’s representative and he has told me to stay as long as I’m needed.”

Thorin frowned. A few years ago, any engagement with orcs and goblins would have been a pleasure but now he had a wife and child to worry about. “I’ll keep in touch and let you know what’s happening,” said the elf. “You’re in an isolated position here and, if they raid any further south, you might have to move to the Grey Havens.” Yes, he just might, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Tauriel brought in the food and they talked more about the current dangers and then they sat chatting together with Arion playing on the floor between them. Lostwithiel had a letter for Tauriel from Thranduil and a small bag of Mirkwood crafted toys for Arion. He was more than a year now and could crawl; he would be walking soon. He emptied out his presents with delight and homed in on a wooden ball which was, in fact, six balls, one carved beautifully inside another. The ball fascinated him and he sat there with quiet concentration, poking and hooking them around with his small finger.

All, in fact, sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Tauriel read Thranduil’s letter which spoke mainly of her lost life in Mirkwood: the continued battles with the spiders, the hunt for orcs, goblins and wargs hiding out in the forest since the great battle, trips down to Dale to marvel at its successful and impressive reconstruction. Now and again, she smiled or laughed at something that Thranduil said but, mostly, she thought about her previous life as captain of the king’s guard and her present life as wife of a smith and mother of a beautiful child. Did she miss her life at court? She didn’t know.

Thorin sat and glowered, wondering what it was that Thranduil was saying that was so funny. He wished he could be witty and amusing and glowered more the more she smiled. He could have done without the company of an elf this morning, even if this was a friendly one. He thought back to the feast that Thranduil had held in the Grey Havens when Lostwithiel had been the only one to approach him with a pleasant word. 

Lostwithiel was also thinking about the feast. My, but this dwarf was a fool. Hadn’t he realised yet that he had been trying to cause trouble between him and Tauriel with his sly comments and barbs? Obviously not. He looked at Tauriel and he looked at Thorin. What a beautiful woman she was! What an excellent captain she had been. She could have married Thranduil but, here she was, married to a smith, someone, moreover, who had handed over his power and kingship to another. Yes, he was a fool. Lostwithiel could just about have understood things if she had married Thorin for his title and the dragon’s hoard. Almost, but not completely. The dwarves were a race apart. Here was Tauriel: delicate, slender, light of foot, gifted with immortality and the wisdom that came with a long life. And there was Thorin: broad-shouldered, muscular and powerful, brooding and black-browed, slow-thinking and short on temper and years. No, he could neither accept it nor understand it.

And now there was a child. Yes, the child was beautiful but he had been born of a union that left a bad taste in the elf’s mouth. And yet it also made Tauriel seem bold and exotic. What sort of woman would marry a dwarf? What was in her mind when she entered into this relationship? What had made her want to bed him? What would she be like to bed herself after such an abnormal experience? The thought aroused him. 

Thorin looked up and offered to show the elf around his hall and forge. Lostwithiel found himself to be surprisingly impressed. The hall section was lofty and well-built, the beams of its roof supported by carven pillars and an imposing stone fireplace. There were flowers everywhere and the elf felt quite at home. The child’s room was bright and airy and the main bedroom was dominated by a most lovely bed, elven in style, which only made Lostwithiel’s thoughts about what must take place in it even more salacious. Their marriage was a perversion and he could not get past how the bed seemed to emphasise these perversities.

Thorin was steadily expanding the accommodation and the most recent addition was a guest suite attached to the far side of the forge. (“No more situations like I had with Kagris,” Thorin had said with wry determination. “Our guests can keep to themselves.”) The forge itself was well-laid out and superbly equipped and this had been extended too with a small room off for the young lad who sometimes came to help. (“Ah, I shall miss that old bed in the corner,” Tauriel had said with a naughty grin, as Thorin set up a bunk in the new room.) The elf admired some of Thorin’s fine work – it really was superb, he’d give the dwarf that – and placed a commission for a silver shoulder-clasp for his cloak. And then he set off for the Grey Havens, promising to visit again or send messages so that Thorin would know if the situation began to worsen.

Thorin waved off the elf with a feeling of relief and Tauriel put Arion down for a nap. “All that playing with his new toys has worn him out,” she laughed, tidying her son’s presents away.

Thorin came up behind her and, sliding his arms around her waist, murmured huskily in her ear, “Well, I think his father would like to play too.”

She turned in his grasp and, as she often did, teasingly held onto his plaits, kissing him fiercely until he was breathless. But then she wriggled out of his arms and packed him off to the forge to design the shoulder-clasp. 

“Tonight,” she whispered.

“Promises, promises,” he retorted.

.o00o.

But, they had had an early night and she had kept her promise. Now the sun was rising on a new day once more and Thorin was awake. She was turned away from him and Thorin curved himself around her back. He kissed the nape of her neck and gently bit her ear. She began to rouse and he fitted himself more snugly. “We’ve got a whole hour, Tauriel,” he said.

There was a loud rapping on the door.

Thorin jumped from his bed, flung on his clothes and stomped out of the room. “And if it’s Lostwithiel,” he shouted over his shoulder, “I shall slam the door in his face and come back to bed!”

But, much to his amazement, on the doorstep stood the wizard, Gandalf.

Thorin was more than pleased to see his old friend but he stared grumpily at him and said: “And what time do you call this?”

“Time for breakfast, I should think,” said Gandalf with a twinkle, and swept past him into the room.

.o00o. 

Gandalf demolished a good breakfast, dandled Arion on his knee for a bit and then set about telling them of his business there.

“I’ve been up with the Rangers, patrolling our borders north of here,” he said; and the twinkle had gone from his eyes. “Things are getting difficult, you know, and the Rangers are only just about containing the situation. The orcs will break through in the end and we must be prepared.”

“What can I do?” said Thorin, leaning across the table and looking grim. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect Tauriel and Arion. “Are you expecting me to help out in the north?”

“No,” returned Gandalf. “I’m expecting you to stay here and forge weapons. That is your skill and that is where you can help the most.” He leaned back and sighed. “It’s more complicated than that. I was at the meeting in the Grey Havens last night and we talked about the defence of the region. The settlement where Dis lives should be well-guarded because there are sufficient dwarves and men there who are experienced fighters. And stationed at the Grey Havens is a troop of elves who are well able to hold off even a reasonably serious attack. But we are concerned about the isolated farms, cottages – and forges,” and he looked around the hall, “like this one, which are scattered throughout the foothills of the Blue Mountains.”

“So, what you need,” interrupted Tauriel, “is a roving band like the Rangers who have an established base in the mountains from which they can send out patrols.”

“Spot on,” smiled Gandalf. “But, the problem is, who will make up this band? The dwarves and men have demanding daily lives and cannot leave their homes; the elven soldiers in the Grey Havens are committed to the town.” Tauriel lifted an eyebrow in expectation of an answer.

“Well, last night,” continued Gandalf, “we asked for volunteers from amongst the young elven lords. Most of them can handle a bow, swing a sword and ride a horse. They just need knocking into shape.”

“Ah,” said Thorin, looking quite pleased, “and you’d like me to do the job?”

“No,” said Gandalf, and his sharp eyes looked amused, “I’d like Tauriel to do the job.” Before he could stop himself, Thorin snorted, and then he could have smacked himself on the wrist because his wife looked daggers.

“And who more suited?” she asked indignantly. “I was the captain of the king’s guard in Mirkwood; I’ve lived with soldiers most of my life; I know what’s needed to train them up; and, moreover, the recruits are elves – they would never take orders from you, Thorin.”

All this was true, Thorin admitted. But he had got so used to thinking protectively about his family that he had almost forgotten Tauriel’s past life. “But what about Arion?” he asked gently. “I can’t look after him if I’m making weapons in the forge.”

Tauriel looked at Gandalf expectantly, assuming that the old wizard had an answer.

“Well, I think that Dis would be more than willing to help out if it’s only for a limited time.”

“What sort of time period are you talking about?” asked Tauriel.

“Not too long. There’s a partially ruined farmhouse up in the hills about two hours’ ride from here. It has sweeping views of the countryside and would provide a good outpost for the group. I can imagine you setting up a boot camp there where you could improve their skills, teach them some useful woodcraft and take them out training on night patrols.”

Tauriel began to look excited but Thorin’s brows were darkening.

“I’m thinking a couple of months. Lostwithiel is one of the group and I want you to train him to be your second-in-command – your sergeant – so that he can take over when you’re not there,” Gandalf continued blithely on, ignoring the storm clouds that were gathering.

“And when WON’T she be there?” growled Thorin. “When does she get to see her child – and her husband?”

“Well, I’m imagining her doing a solid block of four weeks and then riding home for the night every four or five days. Once they’re trained, I suppose she could visit the outpost once a week to keep an eye on things and to exchange information with Lostwithiel.” He paused and then looked Thorin in the eye. “It’s an important job that should, in the end, fit in with her home life. It’s something that Tauriel was designed to do.” He gave a small smile and then waited for the explosion.

Much to the wizard’s surprise, it never came. He could see the struggle on Thorin’s face and wondered what was going on in his head. Thorin was suddenly remembering his drunken conversation with his horse when he had been too afraid to ask Tauriel to marry him. Would she be willing to marry a simple smith, he had wondered? And would she get bored at his isolated forge and leave him? He looked across at Tauriel and saw the excited glow in her eyes. He would be a fool to stop her.

He sighed: “It’s entirely Tauriel’s decision,” he said. The look of love she sent him almost, well, ALMOST, made up for the thought that he would be spending a lot of lonely nights without her in the upcoming weeks.

“I’ll do it, Gandalf,” she said.

.o00o.

PT II  
Gandalf bustled about over the next few weeks. He brought Dis down from her home and she moved happily into the guest suite. “It’s not just Tauriel who likes to feel that she’s doing a useful job,” she said.

Ten young elf-lords, headed up by Lostwithiel, set off for the farmhouse from the Grey Havens. Thorin organised a string of packhorses to transport all sorts of useful equipment up to the proposed outpost, and Tauriel gathered together her own things for her departure. She got out her captain’s outfit, her knives and her bow. She hadn’t worn these for some time now and they felt comfortable, like old friends.

On their last night together, Thorin made love to her as if he would never let her go. Afterwards, as he lay with his arms and legs still tightly entwined in hers, she whispered, “And don’t you dare tell me that was one to remember you by.”

“No,” he said, “this is the one to remember me by,” and his lips descended on hers once more.

.o00o. 

As Tauriel rode off the next morning with Gandalf and the packhorses in tow, she was feeling a bit guilty about her husband and son. Arion had waved quite cheerfully, in fact, not realising that his mother wouldn’t be back in a few hours. But he looked very happy, perched on Dis’ hip, and she was confident that he would be more than content in the care of his loving aunt. However, Thorin looked so miserable that she almost turned her horse around and galloped back to him so that she could kiss all his frown-lines away. She knew that he was finding it difficult to be parted from her but, it wasn’t forever, and her task was an important one. Her own family’s safety and the safety of everyone in the area could depend on how well she trained her little group.

“You might find these elves not exactly the kind of soldiers you’re used to working with,” laughed Gandalf as they ambled up into the foothills. He was accompanying her so that he could help her with the pack horses and then he was returning to the northern borders.

“In what way?” she asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.

“Well, they’re not soldiers, for a start. They’re men-about-court; the type that elegantly waft around being witty and charming, not doing anything in particular. You know, the type that really annoy Thorin. They’re unlikely to endure hardships willingly; they like their food hot and they like it on time; and they usually give orders rather than take them.”

“Oh, dear,” said Tauriel, pulling a face. “So, why on earth have they volunteered for this job?”

“I think, Tauriel, it’s because, after endless years of doing nothing in particular, a few of them have decided that they are bored. They want a bit of excitement and adventure in their lives.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call going on endless foot patrols, sleeping on the wet ground, eating cold rations and never encountering the enemy a life of excitement and adventure.”

“Yes, but they don’t know that yet,” grinned Gandalf. “Strike while the iron is hot and toughen them up before they realise it.”

“Don’t worry, Gandalf,” she laughed. “That’s what I intend to do.”

When they approached the “outpost”, Tauriel was pleased with what she saw. Although the building was a bit tumbledown, most of it had a roof and there was also a run of stables. It was perched on a prominent hill and she could see for miles. No-one could attack them without being spotted first from a considerable distance – at least during the day. There was a stream and a copse where they could gather wood for a fire. Once the place was tidied up, it would function more than adequately.

No-one was on guard, however, and she found them all huddled in the main room around a miserable, smoking fire. Start as you mean to go on, she thought, grinning to herself.

“Atten-SHUN!” She yelled in a powerful, commanding voice. And all of them except Lostwithiel, sprang startled to their feet and then tried to stand up straight like regular soldiers. What a bunch, she thought. Lostwithiel leaned against the mantelpiece with a certain elegant nonchalance and smiled at her. She wanted to smile back but it would be bad for discipline. “Sergeant!” she snapped. “Where are your look-outs? If we were orcs then you would all be dead by now!”

Lostwithiel looked surprised – and annoyed – at her tone. But he moved away from the fireplace, stood up straighter and apologised, saying that they had only just reached the farmhouse themselves.

She glared at him to indicate that this was no excuse and ordered him to organise the men to unload the packhorses and to put her own horse in the stables. He took them outside and she and Gandalf heard a lot of confused shouting and neighing. Gandalf snorted with laughter. “Good start, Tauriel! I think they’re all terrified of you already.”

“And so they should be,” she replied. “My first function is to give them a hard time.”

“But watch out for Lostwithiel,” Gandalf continued. “He obviously thought you were a friend of his and was expecting a soft ride.”

She shrugged. “Well, he’ll just have to learn the hard way like all of the rest,” she said. But she felt a little uneasy.

When the packhorses were unloaded, Gandalf said his farewells, taking a string of the horses with him. “Good luck,” he winked as he set out.

She sorted out the equipment, handing them all a bed–roll and weapons in the form of killing knives, bows and arrows. They had brought their own swords which looked very shiny as if they had never been used. She then gave them all “uniforms” which were made of tough, hard-wearing material, in colours that would blend in easily with their surroundings and included elven cloaks which would keep them dry and warm and which could be used as blankets when they were out patrolling at night. The elves looked horrified at the clothing. They had all come dressed in expensive outfits made of fine materials in bright colours.

“But we can’t wear these,” objected one, a tall, thin lordling called Rostrel. “Why do we have to wear a uniform? After all, we ARE volunteers. Can’t we wear our own clothes?”

“Of course you can,” said Tauriel amiably. And they all looked relieved. “That’s if you don’t mind being wet and cold and being a prime target for the first orc arrow we encounter.”

No-one complained again about the clothes.

There were still a few sticks of furniture lying about the place. The big kitchen had a useful table and some rickety chairs and Tauriel ordered that the new pots and pans be stored in the cupboards. There was a big iron stove and she thought it would prove to be quite an efficient space once she had organised it. The number of bedrooms upstairs meant that they all had to double up except for her and Lostwithiel. She decided that Lostwithiel could have the single bedroom and she would take a spare room downstairs that would serve both as her sleeping quarters and as an office. It was good to be apart from the men – it gave her more authority.

She then handed out the cleaning equipment and, to their further horror, ordered them to clean and tidy the farmhouse. She kept two of them back to pack away supplies and then got them – rather clumsily – peeling vegetables for their evening meal. They all set about their tasks in a bad temper, but she smiled when she saw that, as the afternoon wore on and they began to chat and feel a modicum of success when their tasks were completed, that the mood began to lighten. 

“We’ve finished, sir,” reported one of the vegetable peelers.

“Well done, soldier!” she said to him in clipped accents. And he looked very pleased with himself.

When they had all eaten and were feeling rather clever that, between them, they had managed to produce an edible meal, she gave them their first real lesson: how to construct a fire that caught quickly and burned efficiently with the minimum of smoke. They all laughed at each other’s failings; then those who managed first began to help those who were having a hard time of it and Tauriel was very pleased to see these first signs of team-work and camaraderie.

They had had a long day and wanted to sleep. “Ah, yes,” said Tauriel. “Sleep. But first what do we need to do, Sergeant? Lostwithiel looked blank and then said: “Organise the look-outs.”

“Well, then, Sergeant, I’ll leave it in your safe hands.” She then went off to her room whilst Lostwithiel tried to organise a rota of guards for the night.

When she got up the next morning, the two guards from the previous shift were still on duty but asleep outside the farmhouse, while the ones who should have been on duty were still asleep in their beds. Tauriel, awake before any of the others, went to the kitchen, then stood outside the front door clashing two pans together until they all stumbled groggily outside looking completely dazed.

They were dressed – sort of – but she made them line up in the rain whilst she inspected them, walking around them and staring until they became quite nervous. She stood behind Borondin who obviously spent a lot of his time in front of a mirror grooming his excessively long hair which fell to his waist. “Am I hurting you, soldier?” she asked in gentle, concerned tones.

“No, sir,” he replied in surprise. 

“Well, I should be!” she yelled in his ear. “I’m standing on your hair! Get it cut!”

The others started to grin but then she went back down the whole line finding a reason to shout at every single one of them.

“It took me years to grow it that long,” complained Borondin as a fellow soldier cut his hair to the statutory shoulder length.

“Well, I can imagine that the captain would say that an orc could use it to garrotte you with,” came the laughing response. “She’s a one, isn’t she?” And they all agreed but didn’t seem too displeased that their captain was a tartar. 

During the course of the day, Tauriel instructed Lostwithiel on how to organise his troops and he sent them out to fill water barrels, to cut wood and to hunt for food. Life at the farmhouse began to take on a regular pattern and she found that she didn’t have to repeat her instructions. That night, the look-outs were sorted without any fuss and no-one fell asleep on duty. Tauriel went to her room feeling very pleased with her progress.

She had cause to feel even more pleased with herself as the week progressed. She set up target butts so that they could practise with their bows. They were reasonable, like every elf, but she was able to improve them, increasing their speed and accuracy. She gave them lessons with the killing knives. Only a couple of them had ever used these before but they were all light on their feet and soon they were beginning to feel comfortable with these weapons. However, she had a problem with their swords. It wasn’t that they couldn’t use them but that the swords themselves were not suitable for fighting orcs. They were much too light and orc weapons would cut them in two after only a couple of strokes.

Most nights, either she or Lostwithiel would take out a night patrol. Elves saw well in the dark and they knew how to move quietly but these patrols were intended to familiarise them with the area and to help them learn how to work as a group, ready for any encounter or attack. She also wanted to harden them to physical discomfort and, although they complained a lot at the beginning of the week, there was not a single grumble by the end of it and wretched hours spent out in the rain and the dark made them really appreciative of the spartan comforts of the farmhouse. Given the opportunity, elves learned quickly and they no longer seemed like raw recruits after only seven days. 

The following week, during their day patrols, she used that time to improve their woodcraft, teaching them to track the spoor of orcs, goblins and wargs, laying trails for them to follow and increasing their orientation skills. She held daily meetings so that they all felt involved and asked for suggestions which might improve both the comfort of the farmhouse and their effectiveness as a group.

“What about a warning beacon?” suggested Durandan. He was one of the brightest in her troop and often came up with good ideas.

She praised his suggestion and he blushed with pleasure. They all went outside to survey the ground. From their high seat, they could see many of the farms and cottages that they were trying to protect, including her own forge. They chose a likely spot and, after rummaging around in the old stables, they emerged triumphant with various pieces of scrap metal from which they rigged a brazier. They filled it with hay, twigs and small logs of wood and erected a cover over it to keep the fuel dry. They then stood back to admire their work.

“Well, done, lads!” said Tauriel, genuinely pleased with their team work. The elves grinned at each other. It felt really good to be called Tauriel’s “lads”! 

.o00o. 

Pt III 

After two weeks, Thorin was really miserable. He couldn’t sleep without Tauriel in his bed and he worried about her all day long, wondering just how safe it still was up in the hills. A fortnight had passed and it would still be another two weeks before he saw her again. And so, on the fifteenth day, he got up in the morning, saddled his horse, packed half a dozen swords that he had recently made and told Dis that he was visiting Tauriel for the day.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Dis. “Isn’t it better to leave her alone so that she can sort out her life up there?”

“Well, Gandalf wanted me to take these swords to her when I had finished them.” It was a lie, but a good one. “The sort of blades those elven lords carry around with them at court are not fit for purpose. She’ll want these as soon as possible so that she can get them practising with a proper sword. They’re much heavier and they’ll take some time to get used to them.” And so Dis argued with him no more and she and Arion waved him off.

By chance, Thorin had hit upon precisely the right lie because the swords were exactly what Tauriel needed. When he turned up at the farm-house, the look-out confronted him and he replied mildly that he had the swords for their weapon practice. Half of the group were out hunting but Tauriel, Lostwithiel and four of the others were engaged in sword-play with the elven blades and Tauriel was feeling frustration at their inadequacy. Thorin produced his own swords then joined in with the training, cheerfully ignoring the irritated signals that Tauriel was sending him. The young elves found him very skilled and he soon had a group of admirers. They proudly showed him what they had achieved in the farmhouse and pointed out the beacon that they had constructed.

“I’ll make you a proper one when I have a moment,” he said. “But yours looks as though it’ll last for some time. Good job.” The elves fairly glowed. 

Only Lostwithiel stood apart and watched him, wondering at his intrusion and also considering whether or not this changed the rules of the game.

After a couple of hours, the group broke up for food and Tauriel said in a strained voice: “I’d like to see you in my office, Thorin.”

Yes, grinned Thorin to himself. He’d like to see her in her office too. She marched off down a corridor and Thorin followed, thinking she had a pretty wonderful rear. As she entered her room, Thorin followed closely, swinging around to pin her up against the door as it swung to behind them. With a groan, he covered her mouth with his, feeling for the collar of her shirt and undoing the buttons with skilful fingers. He pressed himself up hard against her, laughing into her neck, ecstatic to feel her in his arms again . “I see your office has a bed in the corner,” he murmured in that dark voice that usually sent shivers down her spine. But, Tauriel was furious and pushed him away. When he just laughed again and came back for another kiss, she gave him such an angry shove that he guessed it meant “no”.

“No?” he said.

“No,” she said. She adjusted her clothing. “What are you doing here, Thorin?”

“Delivering swords?”

She gave him a look.

“Visiting you because I’ve been without you for two whole weeks and I can’t bear it any more?”

He looked so penitent, like a naughty little boy, that she almost gave him a hug. But she resisted the temptation.

“You do realise that your being here could seriously undermine my authority?” she said. “And I want you to go now.” 

“Sorry, Tauriel,” he whispered. And he looked up at her with his big, blue eyes through long dark lashes.

He was irresistible. “Oh, Thorin,” she snapped in exasperation. Then she grabbed him by his plaits, gave him a rough kiss and pushed him away again. “Home!” she said, opening the door and gesturing. 

Thorin grinned and edged out the door. “The journey was worth it,” he said. 

“Home!” she repeated, pointing down the corridor and he reluctantly retrieved his horse and rode back to the forge. 

Meanwhile, in the farmhouse kitchen, the conversation had got interesting. “Of course,” said Lostwithiel, “you know who that was?”

“I know he’s a damn fine swordsman,” said Rostrel. “He taught me some pretty good moves out there.”

“Did I gather he’s a smith?” said Lithin. “The one who made those swords? He said he’d make us a brazier.”

“Well, that makes him a damn fine craftsman too,” said Rostrel, determined to defend the new object of his admiration.

“He’s also,” said Lostwithiel, “our captain’s husband.”

A shocked silence fell upon the room. 

“No!” exclaimed Rostrel finally and in disbelief.

“Yes!” said Lostwithiel. “And they’ve also got a child.”

A murmur of disgust ran around the table. “Didn’t you know?” asked Lostwithiel innocently.

They hadn’t known although a couple had vaguely heard that an elf had married a dwarf. That the elven bride was their captain and that the dwarven smith who had taught them some sword-play that morning was the husband took them by complete surprise.

“And what do you think they’re up to in her office at this very moment?” Lostwithiel continued.

They all guessed and they all felt complete revulsion. 

.o00o. 

That afternoon, after Thorin’s departure, Tauriel knew straight away that things had changed. No-one would meet her eye. They obeyed her orders slowly and reluctantly. They whispered in corners. Tauriel knew that they were whispering about her and Thorin and that her secret was out. Not that she had thought about it as a secret. Surely everyone knew about her by now? Lostwithiel had known about it, after all, and she had thought he must have told the rest as soon as the troop was formed. She had hoped that her excellent relationship with these elf-lords and the respect that she was receiving from them was all in spite of her marriage. She had hoped that her marriage did not matter to anyone any more. But she had obviously been wrong. Thorin’s arrival had revealed all and now she no longer had control over her own men.

She was upset and she was angry. That night she went to bed especially early because she couldn’t face them any more. She lay in the dark on her bed roll, staring out at the stars, and didn’t know what to do. Finally she fell asleep.

.o00o. 

Tauriel awoke with a start. For a moment, she thought she was back at the forge, in bed with Thorin. A hot, naked body was pressed against her own, a hand was tugging at her nightgown and a moist pair of lips were forcing her own apart. She realised almost instantly that this person wasn’t Thorin because he was hurting her and Thorin never hurt her. The hand pinched and squeezed her painfully and he was sucking on her lower lip, drawing it hard into his mouth and biting it.

Her eyes flew open – and it was Lostwithiel. She pushed his face away and, forcing her knee up between their two bodies, she broke the lock he had on her and kicked him from her bed. She lay there, panting in shock, but Lostwithiel just rolled back towards her and reached out for her again. He gave a sly, unpleasant laugh. “Oh, come on Tauriel. I know you want to play. I can stay all night – and every night when we’re not on patrol.”

She sat up in absolute disbelief. “You’ve got a very distorted image of me, Lostwithiel,” she snapped. “Get out of my room!”

But he only climbed back onto the bed roll. “Oh, I love a woman who gives me orders,” he leered. He tried to pull her back down again, twining a hand in her hair. “You know what you are, Tauriel,” he panted, “what you want. Let me show you.”

It was at this point that Tauriel lost her temper completely. She drew back her fist and punched him on the nose.

“Ow!” yelped Lostwithiel. “That really hurt!” He felt his nose gingerly. “You’ve broken it!”

“Good,” said Tauriel. “Now, get dressed and get out. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

He pulled on his clothes sullenly whilst Tauriel put on her shirt and breeches too. She didn’t feel too dignified glaring at him in her nightgown. He went to the open window and began to climb out.

“And where are you going?” she barked.

“Back on guard duty,” he muttered.

“You mean you’re one of the look-outs tonight?” Tauriel could hardly believe it. “Who’s with you?”

“Borondin.....And don’t glare. You know we don’t really need more than one. You just want to make our lives more of a misery.”

With that, he slipped from the window. She heard a thud followed by a grunted exclamation and she hoped he had tripped over in the dark. She went to the window to close it. And a large, brutish hand shot in, grabbed her viciously by the hair and yanked her out into the night. Before she could even yell, something hit her on the head and she lost consciousness.

.o00o. 

Pt IV

When Tauriel regained consciousness, she was being shaken by an orc who grunted and threw her back on the ground once more as soon as he could see that she had recovered her senses. She looked around and saw Lostwithiel being shaken and kicked in a similar manner and he groaned and came to as well. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were half way up the side of the mountain that rose behind their farmhouse. So, the orcs had come the hard way, over the mountain, she thought. She wasn’t surprised that they had had no warning. That was a hole she’d have to plug once she got back on duty. Then she grimaced to herself. IF she got back on duty. 

It was still dark but a few grey streaks were showing in the sky. She looked around and counted eight of them, all big bruisers. They hadn’t been killed so they were wanted for questioning and were doubtless being dragged back to some lair further north.

“Tauriel,” Lostwithiel whispered. “Are you all right?” He was booted for his pains. She nodded and raised a questioning eyebrow. He nodded in return. They had been carried this far but now, she thought grimly, they would have to walk and climb with their hands behind their backs, “And me with no shoes on my feet,” she muttered to herself. It was going to be a long day.

Back at the farmhouse, there was panic. Borondin had been seriously wounded but he had managed to crawl back to his sleeping fellow soldiers and raise the alarm. When they found both Tauriel and Lostwithiel gone, there was a lot of frantic shouting and running around until Durandan yelled: “Shut up! Sit down!”

They obediently sat down around the big table and looked to their clever comrade for suggestions.

“Now,” he said, “be calm and ask yourself: what would the captain do?”

Mention of their captain made them square their shoulders.

“Well,” said Farond, “she’d look after her men first and make sure that Borondin was being cared for properly.” They all nodded in agreement. Yes, their captain would always look out for them. “And so, I think, we should patch him up as best we can and then send someone down to the dwarven settlement to warn them and to fetch back a physician.” They all nodded in agreement again and Lithin volunteered to go.

“Then,” said Lithin who was usually shy and slow to put himself forward, “two of us should stop here with Borondin to look after him and guard the place; one of us should set out to the Grey Havens to warn them of what has happened here and the others should follow the tracks of the orcs and at least find out where they are going, even if we can’t stage a rescue yet.”

There was a murmur of approval. “And there’s the beacon too, of course,” he added.

“But, even if we lit it, no-one knows yet what it means,” said Farond.

“Except the captain’s husband,” put in Durandan. “If we light it, he’ll come up here to find out what’s going on. I think he’s entitled to know.”

They all agreed and went outside to light the brazier. The wood caught very quickly and, as it blazed brightly in the night sky, it seemed a very solemn moment to them; and the burden and the meaning of their work at the outpost came home to them at last and their faces looked grave and stern.

.o00o. 

Thorin had tossed and turned throughout the night. It still wasn’t yet dawn. He lay on his back and banged his head against the pillow. Dis had been right. Going to see Tauriel had been a bad idea – those kisses had definitely not been enough and her image swam before his eyes constantly. But she seemed to be doing very well up there with her little team and, seeing her in operation and noticing the respect in the eyes of the elves made him feel very proud of her. 

He grinned to himself as he remembered how she had lost her temper with him. He would so enjoy making things up to her once she came back home to him. He devised innumerable ways of making things up to her but this just made sleep even more impossible. In the end, he grabbed his pipe and went outside for a quiet and calming smoke.

Thorin sat on the bench in front of his hall and gazed up at the fading stars. He looked towards the foothills and imagined Tauriel somewhere up there, asleep at the farmhouse. He wondered if she were having trouble nodding off too. Perhaps she was also wide awake, looking up at that same set of stars and thinking about him.

He could see a very bright one – very bright and very large. Thorin suddenly leaped to his feet. It was the beacon! His heart pounded in his chest and he realised that it was fear. He banged frantically on the door of the guest rooms to rouse Dis and then ran into the forge where he dressed in his mail coat and grabbed his sword, his axe and his stout dwarven bow. Dis emerged bleary-eyed as he ran past to the stable and he yelled and pointed at the beacon. She stared in horror and stood well back as his horse thundered past her out of the yard.

Thorin drove his horse hard and he made very good time. He was met at the door of the farmhouse by Rostrel who told him quickly and precisely what had happened. His wife and Lostwithiel had been captured by orcs. Borondin had been badly wounded. Lithin had gone to rouse the dwarves and bring back a physician. Another elf was already riding to the Grey Havens whilst four more had found out the direction of the orc tracks and were in pursuit. Thorin collected Tauriel’s knives from her room and Rostrel showed him the tracks behind the house.

“They came down over the mountain. You can’t take your horse – you’ll have to go on foot.”

Thorin was not particularly concerned that he was several hours behind the orcs. Dwarves were fast over rough ground and had immense stamina. And fear would drive him hard. As the dawn broke, he overtook the elven scouts. “Keep following the trail,” he shouted as he ran past. “Catch up as soon as you can.” And they marvelled at his speed.

.o00o. 

As Tauriel had guessed, she and Lostwithiel were having a hard time of it. They had been forced to climb the steep mountainside with their arms bound and with the orcs pushing and hauling them along all the way. In the end, they had reached a mountain pass where the going was flatter but now they were being made to run. Elves were good runners but Tauriel was better at it than Lostwithiel who had not had her training. But he was, at least, wearing boots. Tauriel tried to run on grassy patches but her feet were cut and bruised. Every so often she fell forward on her face – deliberately – and the orcs were forced to stop or she would gradually run slower and slower, even when they laid their whips across her back, so that their whole pace slowed. Lostwithiel looked at her with concern but she winked at him and he understood. He started to do the same thing and, finally, when they both lay apparently collapsed on the ground and a good kicking hadn’t roused them, the orcs were forced to carry them and slow their pace once more.

In the end, they got fed up with carrying their captives and, as the sun rose higher, concluded that a rest and some food might give the elves back their strength. They sat in the shelter of a low cliff and lit a fire. And that’s where Thorin finally found them.

He wriggled on his stomach to the edge of the cliff and counted their numbers, relieved to see that Tauriel still appeared to be OK. Not too many, he thought, but he would do his best to reduce them to a manageable quantity. There was a large boulder perched on the cliff top and there were at least two of them sitting underneath, in front of the fire. Tauriel and Lostwithiel were sitting off to one side, at a safe distance, he reckoned.

Thorin put his back to the boulder and gave it a heave. Nothing moved. He tried again, straining until the veins stood out on his throat and neck. He concentrated his huge strength on the task and thought of Tauriel. Suddenly, the boulder started to move.....and it was over the edge. The orcs had some warning from a little rush of pebbles, but before those with their backs to the cliff could move, the boulder came bouncing down the cliff and crushed two of them beneath its great weight.

The remaining six orcs leaped to their feet with a startled cry, imagining that they had been caught in a landslide. 

Tauriel sat there quietly smiling. 

Thorin slid swiftly down the side of the cliff and, by the time the orcs had begun to wonder if it had been a normal landslide after all, he was standing there with his bow. They gawped but as they lunged for their own weapons, two went down with arrows in them. Thorin leaped forwards and slashed the ropes that bound the captives with his sword. He threw them each one of Tauriel’s knives and then the three turned to face their foe.

“Four of them, three of us,” sighed Tauriel with a devilish sidelong glance at her husband. “We appear to be outnumbered.”

“I’ll just have to even things out then,” said Thorin, grinning. And, suddenly, his axe was flashing through the air and an orc fell with the axe buried in his skull.

“One each,” shouted Lostwithiel in glee and they advanced upon the remaining orcs. It didn’t take long. Orcrist and the elven knives were a blur of motion and, within minutes, all the orcs were dead on the ground.

The three stood there panting and grinning at each other. But then Thorin turned and took Tauriel in his arms. She yelped and Thorin said with concern: “What hurts?”

“Everything,” she groaned. And he made them both sit down whilst he looked at the damage that had been done to them. They both had cuts and bruises on their faces and knees from where they had fallen constantly. They both also had bruised backs and ribs from the whipping and kicking. But Thorin could have wept when he saw Tauriel’s feet, cut to shreds as they were. He kissed them gently and she could see his distress. “It’s all right, my love. They’ll mend,” she said and she touched his hair softly.

He picked her up in his arms. “It’s a long way down,” she said. 

“And I shall enjoy every minute of the journey,” he responded, kissing her carefully on the tip of her nose which seemed to be the only bit not scratched or bruised.

They hadn’t got far when the scouts finally reached them. They were able to help Lostwithiel but Thorin would let no-one but himself carry his wife. When they reached the farmhouse, they were met with resounding cheers. Everyone had arrived back and Borondin was recovering well after a visit from the physician.

“Thorin and Tauriel were magnificent,” said Lostwithiel. “I owe my life to them.” He then looked around the room, meeting all his comrades’ eyes. “I think we are the luckiest troop in Middle-earth to have such an outstanding captain. And to have her husband, too, is an amazing bonus.”

The cheers and applause that followed this announcement were so heartfelt that the tears ran down Tauriel’s cheeks.

“And what captain,” she said, “could ask for a better troop of men? Tauriel’s Lads. Your actions today would do justice to some of the best outfits in the country.”

They smiled modestly at each other but Tauriel could see that they were practically squirming with delight at her words.

Thorin was insisting that they go home that evening. “I’ll bring her back in a week when she can walk properly,” he said.

“And do you think,” asked Rostrel shyly, “that you could sometimes come and give us a bit more weapons’ training?” Thorin was touched and was more than happy to agree.

As Thorin went off to prepare his horse, Lostwithiel sidled up to her. He cleared his throat and said, “Umm.....about last night.”

Tauriel touched her swollen and bitten lip and looked at his broken nose. “Well, with all our other injuries, I don’t think these exactly stand out. So, if you don’t tell, neither will I.” And she laughed at the relieved look on his face. “You did well, soldier,” she said quietly.

“Thank you, sir,” he said and he stood erect and saluted her.

.o00o. 

Dis had made a great fuss of her when they reached the forge late that evening. Finally she had been shooed away and, with a bit of assistance, Tauriel got ready for bed. As he helped her onto the deep, downy mattress, she let out a long sigh. “Oh, Thorin,” she said, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be home.”

He got into bed beside her very carefully and they lay facing each other on the pillow. “I knew you would come,” she said.

“Never doubt it,” he said.

He went to put his arms around her and then hesitated because he didn’t know which bit to touch.

“Not tonight, Thorin,” she said gently.

Thorin sighed. “No, I guessed as much.”

“Perhaps tomorrow night.”

“Promises, promises,” he said and then he kissed the tip of her nose, closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Girl. Tauriel yearns for more children and I introduce one of my favourite characters. Will she bring as much fun to you as she has done to me?
> 
> A theft, a pursuit, a capture! But, I’m afraid that Thorin doesn’t know what he has got himself into. And, if he offers his trust, will he be betrayed?


	5. Thorin and the Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arion is now a toddler and Thorin and Tauriel would like another child. But, how easy will it be for them to achieve another dwarf/elf pregnancy? I introduce a new character in this episode. I hope you like her because she’s one of my favourites. Arion loves her; Tauriel loves her. And Thorin? Well, he’s not so sure. He’s reluctant to give his trust and, if he does, will he be betrayed?

Thorin and the Girl  
Pt I 

It was a lovely, late, autumnal morning, right on the cusp of winter, when Thorin and Tauriel rode down through the foothills after a successful trip to the outpost. Tauriel had completed the eight weeks’ training of her “lads” and she was now only visiting once a week. This time, Thorin had come with her to do some weapons’ training and everyone had had a good time. Lostwithiel and the troop had been very pleased to see her, even though she had been absent for only seven days and they had welcomed Thorin with enthusiastic admiration, knowing that, by the time he went home, their skill with sword, knife and bow would have taken a substantial step forward.

They had spent an uncomfortable night there, squashed onto a hard and narrow bedroll together, but they had laughed and kissed and made love in the frosty dawn. Now they were riding back to the forge where Thorin’s sister, Dis, was looking after their son, Arion. When the spring came, he would be two, thought Thorin, and couldn’t believe that he was growing up so quickly.

Suddenly, and without warning, Tauriel leaped from her horse, bent over and was sick. Thorin was at her side immediately, supporting her and holding her long hair back from her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked with concern. But, as she lifted her head, she was smiling. 

“Guess,” she said.

He stared blankly and then, gradually, daylight began to dawn. “You’re pregnant,” he whispered in amazement and, when she nodded, he lifted her from the ground, hugging and kissing her in disbelief. Then he put her down quickly and carefully. “I’m sorry,” he said anxiously. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

“Of course not,” she said. “I’m not made of glass.”

But he continued to treat her as if she WERE made of glass for the next couple of weeks. He wouldn’t make love to her “in case I hurt the baby”; he didn’t want her to do any household chores “in case you hurt the baby”; and he didn’t want her to ride up to the outpost again “in case it hurts the baby”. Finally, Tauriel persuaded him that regular daily life was quite normal and Thorin’s concerns were reduced to only asking her a dozen times a day if she were “all right”. He had missed most of her pregnancy with Arion and he was as bad as a fussing, first-time father.

The days passed and she laughingly told him that her pregnancy dated back to the night when he had told her that he was giving her something to remember him by, just before she had first set out for the outpost and a separation of four weeks. The first time he had used that phrase it had led to the birth of Arion. “So, don’t you dare speak those words lightly again,” she said, waving her finger at him. “It seems to work like a magic charm.”

“Well, he responded, “perhaps a magic charm will come in useful because you must know I want at least a dozen children!”

The days passed happily. Dis came down regularly to look after Arion if they were both up at the outpost and she was thrilled at the thought of another niece or nephew. It even registered with Arion who asked constantly when the new baby was coming.

But their happiness came to an unexpected end when, one evening, as they chattered and laughed at the dining table, Tauriel suddenly bent over, clutching her belly in pain. Thorin helped her into bed but, a few hours later, she had lost the child. The physician came and assured Thorin that, physically, she would be fine in a few days, but......... “Be kind to her,” he said.

After four days, Tauriel still lay lethargically in bed. She stared out of the window, didn’t want to talk and edged away from Thorin in bed at night as if she couldn’t bear for him to touch her. After a week, when Thorin was becoming exhausted with cooking and cleaning and looking after Arion as well as trying to work in his forge, Dis finally said to him, “You must make her talk to you, Thorin.”

And so, that night, Thorin got into bed and took Tauriel in his arms even though she flinched away. He held her tightly and kissed her hair and told her how he loved her and how he needed her. He told her that Arion loved and needed her too and that her lads at the outpost couldn’t manage without her either. He told her that he would always love the child that they had lost but that they had to think of the child they still had. 

And in the end, Tauriel burst into tears. She was afraid that she would never have another child because he was a dwarf and she was an elf – that, somehow, Arion had been a fluke. Since the baby had died, she had dreamed, night after night, that she held a little, golden-haired girl in her arms. She couldn’t stop crying but Thorin rocked her against his chest and, in the end, she fell asleep. When the morning came, she got out of bed and went about her daily tasks. At night, she slept quietly in his arms. But a sadness hung all about her and Thorin knew he needed to do something more.

The weather was cold but bright and sunny. And so Thorin took her and Arion away to the Grey Havens for a few days. He hired the same house overlooking the estuary which they had lived in two years before and Tauriel sat out on the balcony, wrapped up against the cold, and listened to the gulls and watched the ships come and go. And, then, she smiled and said that she was ready to go home.

She looked happier and Thorin returned to the Blue Mountains with his family, hoping that everything would now be as it had been before. As the horses clattered into the yard, Thorin was glad to be back at his hall. He looked towards the forge, thinking about all the commissions he needed to get on with and, to his horror, saw the door swinging on its hinges. 

Thorin leaped from his horse and rushed to the forge. He checked out his hiding place first and was relieved to find that it was intact with all his valuable items inside. A few of his tools seemed missing but that was all. He was just thinking that he had got off lightly when suddenly his heart went cold: he had been working on a gold torc at his bench and, in all his distress over Tauriel’s condition, he hadn’t put it away. And now the torc was gone. Tauriel came to the door.

“The torc has been stolen. I’m going after the thief,” he snarled. 

.o00o. 

Tauriel got a pack of supplies ready for him. She didn’t try to stop him because she was just as angry as he was that someone had invaded their home. Then they went together to check on suspicious tracks in and around the forge until they found a likely set.

“Looks like a dwarf,” she said, “and they look quite fresh.”

“One of those mercenaries from the settlement perhaps,” he suggested. But the tracks didn’t lead toward the dwarven halls but up into the mountains.

“I think there’s just one of them,” said Tauriel, “but please be careful. He must have been desperate to break in here and, if you corner him, he might be dangerous. That torc’s worth fighting for.”

Thorin kissed her and Arion and then set out. It was mid-afternoon but the early winter sun was already sitting low on the horizon. He made good progress but, in the end, darkness descended, and he could follow the tracks no more. He was just setting up camp for the night when he suddenly saw the flickering light of a fire in the distance and he wondered if had caught up with his thief at last.

A small figure was hunched over near the fire and Thorin guessed it must be the dwarf. He could see him rifling around in a bag and bringing out the golden torc which he seemed to be examining with some glee. So, thought Thorin, there he was. Well, he wasn’t going to get much further.

He lunged into the clearing and grabbed the stooping figure from behind. His muscular arm shot around the dwarf’s neck, tightening on his wind-pipe so that he began to choke.

“Aaargh! Geroff! Lemmee go!” came a squeaky, gasping voice and Thorin nearly dropped his captive in surprise. This wasn’t a dwarf. He dragged him to the firelight for a clearer view and was taken aback to find that his dwarf was, in fact, a man-child, and not even a male but a small girl.

For some reason, this made Thorin angrier. He had been burgled by a little girl! He grasped her wrist tightly and shook her. “I’m the smith whose forge you broke into and I’ve come for my torc,” he growled.

“Ow! Oww!” wailed the child. “You’re really hurting me, mister! You’re breaking me wrist!” And she began to grizzle. Thorin felt like a brute and loosened his grip. The girl twisted away from his hold, kicked him so hard in the shins with a heavy boot that he was left hopping and, producing a knife from somewhere, slashed it down his arm. Then, with lightning speed, she picked up her bag and disappeared into the bushes.

With a roar of fury, Thorin plunged after her and, seeing her small figure disappearing off into the darkness, made a flying tackle, catching her by the ankles and bringing her down. The breath was knocked from her body and, sticking her under his arm, he strode back to his horse and tied her hand and foot.

She was crying and looking pathetic. “What yer gonna do with me, mister?” she asked.

Thorin ignored her. He was trying to bind the slash on his arm which was quite deep. “Where did that knife come from?” he snarled.

“Down the side of me boot,” the girl said sullenly. So, he examined her boots to make sure she had no more concealed there. Then he put the torc in his own pack and slung her face down like a sack over the front of his saddle. He mounted behind thinking that the best thing to do for the moment was to get home and then perhaps take her to the Grey Havens for the elves to sort out the following morning. But he would tell her nothing. Let her stew.

The child started grizzling again. “Oww! The saddle’s poking in me gut. It’s hurting me. Don’t leave me like this.” Thorin was concentrating on getting his horse down the hill in the dark and he ignored her.

“Oh, me stomach. I shall be sick in a minute. Let me down.”

Thorin said nothing.

“I shall be sick and I won’t be able to stop meself. I shall be sick all over your nice, shiny boot.”

“You’re a liar and a thief,” said Thorin, and you won’t catch me out a second time.”

At that moment, she was violently sick all over his nice, shiny boot.

“Told you so, mister,” she said, sounding quite justified. “Now are you gonna let me down?”

“No,” said Thorin grimly.

She seemed resigned to her fate. “So, what’s your name, then, smith?”

“Thorin,” said Thorin. “What’s yours?”

“Rose.” She was silent for a bit. “That was a nice torc,” she sighed. “I really wanted that.”

“I bet you did,” snorted Thorin. “Do your parents know where you are and what you’re doing.”

“Ain’t got no parents. I look after meself.”

Thorin had guessed as much. “So, how old are you then?”

“Twelve,” she said.

“Hah!” said Thorin.

“Well, how about ten, then?” 

“How about eight?” he replied.

She grumbled, but finally admitted to that age. “But, don’t think I can’t look after meself just because I’m only eight.”

“Oh, yes,” said Thorin, “you’re so good at looking after yourself that, at this precise moment, you’re all tied up and slung over my saddle bow.”

“Well, you took me by surprise,” she complained.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Thorin sarcastically. “The next time I’m trying to catch a thief, I’ll announce my presence.”

“I had to eat, didn’t I?” she protested.

But Thorin had no pity. “Then why not steal a loaf of bread?”

She was silent and he continued to negotiate the steep track.

“So, what you gonna do with me?” she finally asked again.

“Take you to the elves in the Grey Havens, I expect,” was the curt rejoinder.

“Ow! Not the elves!” she whined. “I hate elves! I’ve got a real thing about them!”

“Well, we might just have something in common there,” Thorin grinned. “I’m not so keen on elves in general and I’ve got a thing about one elf in particular.”

“What elf is that then?” she asked curiously.

“My wife,” said Thorin.

.o00o. 

Pt II 

With no tracks to follow, Thorin was a lot faster coming down the mountain than he had been going up, even in the dark, and it didn’t seem long to Tauriel before she heard his horse on the cobbles outside. She ran to the door to find him dismounting. “I’ve caught our thief and I’ve retrieved the torc,” he revealed. Then he grabbed a bundle from the horse and carried it squirming into the house.

He dumped Rose unceremoniously on the floor where she lay glowering. Tauriel stepped forward to have a look at their captive and gasped in amazement, “But......it’s a little girl!”

“Yes, and she’s as slippery as an eel. Don’t go near her – she’s really vicious. I’ve got a huge bruise on the side of my leg and she did this to me.” He held up his arm, wrapped in a bloody rag, and waited for her to show some gentle concern. Instead, Tauriel looked angrily at him and said sharply: “How could you do that to a child, Thorin? Get her untied this instant!” And she knelt down by the girl’s side, patting her gently and telling her that everything would be all right.

Rose looked suitably pathetic and let some giant tears roll pitifully down her cheeks.

“These ropes really hurt, lady,” she said in a stoical little voice. “I asked him not to put me over the saddle bow but he wouldn’t listen and then I was sick.”

“Thorin!” gasped Tauriel in a shocked voice. “How could you? She can’t be more than nine.”

“Eight,” muttered Thorin and knelt down to undo Rose’s bonds. She was a funny little thing, all eyes and a mass of short, dark hair which she had obviously cut herself with a knife. He fully expected her to make a run for the door; instead of which, she sat there rubbing her wrists and looking up at Tauriel with big, distressed eyes. “Thank you, lady,” she whispered bravely. “I’ll be all right now.”

Much to his irritation, his wife took the girl’s face gently between her hands and kissed her on the forehead. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Would you like something to eat?” And, of course, Rose nodded enthusiastically.

Tauriel sat her up to the table and set out some food for them all. Rose stuffed food down her throat as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. And perhaps she hadn’t, thought Thorin.

“Tell us about your parents,” Tauriel enquired gently.

“Both dead,” said Rose between bites. “Me dad died six months ago.”

“And what did your father do?” Tauriel’s face was full of concern.

“He was a thief,” the girl said baldly. “Taught me all I know.”

“He obviously didn’t teach you table manners,” snapped Thorin, slapping her hand away as she made a grab for the last piece of cake.

“Thorin!” cried Tauriel. 

But Rose turned to her and said knowingly: “He’s really grumpy, isn’t he? That’s because you didn’t kiss it better.”

Tauriel gave her a quizzical look. “Kiss what better?”

“His arm, of course.” And she gave a gurgle of laughter and Tauriel laughed heartily along with her.

Thorin was beginning to feel that they were both ganging up on him and thought that Tauriel was losing track of the fact that this child was a thief and that she might have made off with something extremely valuable. It was time to get a few things sorted.

“I’m taking her to the elves tomorrow, so, the question is, what do we do with her tonight? As soon as we’re asleep, she’ll be gone.”

“Well,” she could sleep in with Arion,” suggested Tauriel.

Just as Thorin was about to say that no way was she going to share a room with his precious son, Rose asked Tauriel who Arion was and then side-tracked into a stream of questions about him. “Me, I like babies,” she said. “Always wanted a baby bruvver or a sister.”

Tauriel gently stroked her hair and smiled at her: “And you scarcely more than a baby yourself,” she said.

Thorin banged the table, making them both jump.

“I will NOT have this vagabond sleeping in my son’s room!” he snarled.

“Well, perhaps you’d like her in our room?” said his wife sweetly. “Or perhaps she’d like to sleep with me while you go out to one of the guest rooms. Hmmm?”

“Oh, I’d like that,” said Rose, hugging Tauriel. “I sometimes used to sleep with me muvver – before she died.” And she gave her a mournful look.

Thorin felt control of the situation slipping away from him. “No, what I was actually thinking,” he put in firmly, “was that she could sleep out in the forge. I could chain her to that pillar and then she won’t be able to run away in the night.”

Both of them looked at him aghast. “Thorin!” cried Tauriel. “I can’t believe you just said that!”

“Well, being chained to a pillar in the forge was obviously good enough for me; why not for her?” he said with a pointed reference back to the first night they had met.

“Because you’re a fully-grown dwarf and she’s only a child.” Rose blinked innocently and tried to look suitably child-like.

They argued back and forth with both of them getting more and more heated and, in the end, a bed was made up for Rose in front of the fire on the hall floor. She snuggled down on the feather pillow between clean, white sheets. “Ooo, this is cosy,” she said. “Best bed I’ve ever slept in.” And she fell fast asleep.

Later, in their bedroom, the argument continued in fierce whispers.

“And I don’t want you to take her to the elves either,” said Tauriel. “Who knows what they’ll do to her? They might even lock her up.”

“Best place for her,” retorted her husband. “Keep her out of mischief until she’s learned a lesson.”

“And then they’ll just turn her out on the streets. And THEN what will happen to her?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s any of our concern. She’s survived on her own so far.”

“Just listen to yourself, Thorin,” she snapped. “When you talk like that, I hardly recognise you.”

Thorin looked sullen. “What do you suggest, then?” he asked, not really wanting to hear her answer because he guessed what it would be.

“I want her to stay with us. I want to teach her how to behave. I want to look after the poor little thing.”

Thorin sighed and rolled over on his back. “Don’t you understand, Tauriel. She’s a bad apple. She’s lived on the streets all her life. It’s too late to help her. And,” he added stubbornly, “I don’t want her anywhere near my son.”

She began to cry softly and Thorin rolled back and drew her into his arms. “My love,” and his voice was very gentle, “you can’t replace a lost child with one you’ve picked up from the side of the road.” She wept a little more and Thorin kissed her and stroked her long, beautiful hair. He wanted to make love to her and then she would forget this argument and he would get his way in the morning. He kissed her wet lids and murmured into her neck and began to undo her clothing. But she wriggled away from him to the far side of the bed.

“If you want your way, then you’ll have to give me mine,” she said in dignified tones.

“Blackmail?” he said.

“Yes,” she replied.

He groaned and banged his head on the pillow in frustration.

After tossing and turning in the dark for a bit, he finally decided to give his wife what she wanted – at least for the moment. “All right,” he said. “She can stay.”

But, as they made love, he wondered if he would regret his decision. 

.o00o.

Pt III

When they got up the next morning, Rose was still asleep, snuggled down on her make-shift bed with only her mop of hair showing above the covers. Tauriel went off to make breakfast and Thorin fetched Arion from his room. When he put him down, he immediately went over to the mattress and tugged at Rose’s hair curiously. One eye appeared over the top of the blanket. “Hello, you,” she said. “What’s your name, then?

The toddler plopped himself down next to her, completely fascinated and said, “Ar’on.”

“That’s a nice name,” she responded. “I’m Rose.”

“Wose,” he giggled. And she giggled too.

“I’m surprised to find you still here,” said Thorin tartly. “Expected you to run away, given half the chance.”

“No fear of that,” she said cheerfully, pushing back the coverlet. He raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Food’s too good.” And she got up to sit at the table as Tauriel brought breakfast into the room.

“And what about the elves? Aren’t you worried about them?”

“No,” she retorted confidently. “Tauriel won’t let you hand me over to them.”

“What makes you so sure?” he asked, irritated by her equanimity.

“Oh.....things.” And she gave him a cheeky, sidelong look. “Women always get their way.”

She’s older than her years, he thought and it troubled him.

Tauriel picked up Arion and balanced him on her knee and tried to feed him, but he kept turning his head away so that he could watch Rose. The girl picked up a spoon and he ate every morsel she offered, staring at her and laughing all the time, especially when she played the “horse goes into the stable” game. “Thank you, Rose,” smiled Tauriel. “He’s getting to that awkward age with food.”

“Did you ever have that awkward age with food?” asked Thorin mockingly, as she fed Arion with one hand and stuffed food into her own mouth with the other.

“Nope,” she said. “I learned pretty young always to eat everything in case there was nothing the next day.”

Tauriel glared at her husband and then asked Rose gently about her father and how he had died.

“We were crossing a swollen river. We both fell and he was swept away. I can swim. He couldn’t.” Her voice was toneless and blunt. She didn’t seem to care. What a heartless little wretch she is, thought Thorin.

Tauriel reached out and touched her hand. “How have you managed to live? Have you no other relatives? No friends?”

“There’s only me.”

“Ha!” thought Thorin. There were bound to be other partners-in-crime. And he wondered where they were.

“I stole food from market stalls, found berries in the woods, milked goats and cows before the farmer was up, dug up vegetables at night from the fields, snared rabbits.”

“It’s all right. You’ve got us now,” said Tauriel softly.

“Worst luck,” muttered Thorin and then was glad that no-one had heard him.

Tauriel put Arion down and started to clear up. The two children immediately gravitated towards each other. The little boy brought out his toys to show her and Rose played tirelessly with him. Thorin usually sat with his son every morning before going to the forge and felt a bit rejected. He got down on the floor with them, occasionally trying to attract Arion’s attention but with little success. Rose held up Arion’s favourite toy, the wooden ball. “I wish I had something like this,” she said.

“Made by your friends, the elves,” responded Thorin. 

She stroked it and moved the balls around, one inside the other. “It’s beautiful. Tauriel’s beautiful too. If all elves were like her then I wouldn’t mind.”

“Trying to soften me up, Rose? Well, it won’t work.” And Thorin glowered at her. As usual, Arion imitated his father’s expression and Rose glared sourly at the bad-tempered smith. Tauriel came back into the room at that moment and, seeing the three of them sitting there with their dark hair, blue eyes and black expressions, burst out laughing.

“You should see yourselves,” she chuckled, “three grumps, all in a row. Rose could be your daughter, Thorin.” 

Thorin felt unduly upset by her remark and got to his feet. “If you’re suggesting she’s my by-blow ......” He flung a look at her and stomped out of the room to his forge.

Rose was a wonderful help and companion that day. Arion was mesmerised by her and wouldn’t let her out of his sight. She carried him around on her hip, “as if she were a little mother herself” thought Tauriel, smiling, and took him to look at things in the yard and the garden and for a conversation with the horses. “Arion says your horse is called Thorin, too. Why’s that?”

“Because he’s black-haired and mean,” replied Tauriel, laughing. And Rose laughed too. “But he’s also tough and reliable and will never let you down.”

“I guessed that,” said Rose sadly. “But he just don’t like me, you see.”

Tauriel gave her a hug. “Give him time,” she said.

When Thorin came in for lunch, he found Arion facing Rose across the table and the girl had a line of objects in front of her. “And what are you two doing?” he asked curiously.

“I’m teaching ‘im new words,” she said.

He laughed curtly. “Well, I’m not too sure I want him learning new words from you.”

She ignored him and turned back to her objects. First, she held up a bird’s feather. “Fevver,” she said.

Arion gave her his full attention and, frowning with concentration, said with confidence: “Fevver.”

“Very good,” she applauded. “Now this. And she held up a hammer and said “ ‘Ammer”.

“ ‘Ammer,” said Arion triumphantly.

Thorin snorted with laughter and Rose looked hurt. Tauriel entered the room then and gave him a warning look. “She’s been marvellous with Arion all morning. He must know twenty new words already.” Thorin went to say something scathing and then changed his mind.

That afternoon, while Arion had his nap, Tauriel took out her work basket and began to stitch a pretty piece of blue material. “That’s lovely,”said Rose stroking it. “What are you making?”

“A dress for you,” smiled Tauriel, looking at the boy’s clothes that Rose was wearing. The girl’s eyes widened. “I’ve never ‘ad a dress before. Won’t I look silly in it?”

“No, you’ll look lovely. And I know this because I wore a soldier’s outfit for much of my life. I didn’t think I could feel comfortable or look good in a dress – but the first time Thorin saw me in a dress, he thought I looked wonderful.”

“Do you think Thorin will like me in a dress?” the girl asked wistfully.

“I’m sure he will,” said Tauriel with an encouraging smile.

That night, Thorin agreed that Rose could share Arion’s room and the two children went to bed with smiles on their faces. In their own room, Tauriel cuddled Thorin: “We’ve all had a lovely day together and Rose is a lovely child.”

Thorin sighed and picked his words carefully. “I know that’s the way it seems, my love, but – remember Kagris. We know nothing about her. Please don’t give her all your trust yet.”

“Be nice to her, Thorin,” she said. “I think your good opinion is becoming important to her.”

“Your good opinion is important to me, too,” he growled in her ear. “And,” he said, pulling her into his arms, “I’d like your good opinion of this.”

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

The next morning, Rose and Arion did their “lessons” together again and then the toddler sat down to play with his toys. Tauriel smiled at Rose through the kitchen door and asked her for some help. “I’m baking bread,” she said, “and the dough needs a lot of kneading.” The girl threw herself into the task.

“This is fun. I’ve never cooked before,” she admitted. “Well, not what you would call cooking.”

“And what wouldn’t you call cooking?” chuckled Tauriel.

“I can roast rabbits on spits over me camp fire and I can cook ‘edge’ogs in clay in the embers and I can boil up some vegetables, perhaps; but usually I’d eat ‘em raw. That’s about it.”

“Sounds pretty good to me,” the elf laughed. “But, if you want to widen your repertoire, how about we plan to cook something every day together. What do you say?”

The little girl nodded and gave her a hug and Tauriel hugged her back.

When Arion was taking his afternoon nap, Rose checked out the progress on her dress and then drifted around the yard, kicking stones. Finally, she lurked in the door of the forge, half hiding behind a pillar and waiting for Thorin to tell her to clear out. She saw him glance up and notice her but, instead of shouting, he just looked back down at the sword he was hammering. Finally, he said roughly: “Don’t just stand there. Come and help!” She slouched over and he told her to top up the trough with water. Then she got to work the bellows and then he allowed her to have a close look at the sword. He showed her how it was made from six separate rods of steel and pointed to the rippling pattern on the blade.

“Cor!” she said in genuine awe.

Encouraged by her interest, he took her over to his workbench and showed her an arm-ring he was etching. She sighed. “I wish I could do sumfink clever like that. I’d love to make sumfink beautiful.” She looked away. “That’s why I stole that torc, you know. I broke in looking for food but I saw that torc. Couldn’t resist it. I wouldn’t ‘ave sold it, you know. I just wanted to keep it and look at it.”

Thorin laughed and put down his tools. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, and she looked at him round-eyed. “The first time I met Tauriel, I wanted to steal a golden dagger I found in her pack. I picked it up and I really wanted it.”

“You STOLE it?” She was amazed.

“No, I did not, young lady,” and he managed to look righteously indignant. He could see that she thought him an idiot for passing up such a chance and so he added: “Because it’s WRONG!” She looked unconvinced. Obviously a topic that needed further discussion, Thorin thought.

Tauriel called her then and she went reluctantly away.

“Thank you for your help,” Thorin called after her.

But when she entered the house she found, to her excitement, that Tauriel had finished her dress, together with a matching pair of blue, silk slippers. But, first, the elf washed and cut her hair and dried it in front of the fire. Then she helped her on with the dress and tied a ribbon in her hair and found a pretty little necklace. “Come and look,” she said, inviting her into her bedroom to stand in front of a mirror. “Keep it on for supper,” said Tauriel. “Let’s give Thorin a surprise. I’ll put on a nice dress too.”

Thorin rose to the occasion. “My, who are these two beautiful young ladies?” he said, as he entered the room that evening. “I don’t think I recognise them.”

“Yes, you do! Yes, you do!” Rose laughed gleefully, dancing around him. “It’s me! It’s Rose! And that’s Tauriel!”

“Well, I never!” Thorin exclaimed. “I would never have guessed.” And, indeed, it was almost impossible to recognise the pretty little girl twirling around the room as the dirty, scruffy thief he had brought home on his horse only a few days previously.

They spent a companionable evening together, laughing, joking and talking. In the end, all the excitement caught up with her and Rose fell fast asleep on the floor in front of the fire. Tauriel managed to work her out of her dress and into her nightgown; then Thorin carried her to the nursery where Arion was already fast asleep and tucked her gently into her truckle bed. He kissed both the children on the forehead and went quietly from the room.

He and Tauriel sat for a long time in front of the fire. “Can’t you see now, Thorin, what a beautiful child she is?” He put his arm around her. “Perhaps, Tauriel. Perhaps.”

.o00o. 

Pt V

The following morning, Rose played with Arion again. Tauriel was stitching an “everyday dress” for her in a hardwearing material and had no time for them. So, they went, hand in hand, into the yard looking for something to do. They drifted towards the forge, lured by the sound of busy hammering and Rose lingered hopefully in the doorway. But Thorin sent them away.

“It’s too dangerous in here for Arion,” he explained. “Come back this afternoon when he’s asleep and I’ll show you how to set stones into that arm-ring.”

The two of them wandered around for a bit longer in a desultory fashion and then Rose asked Tauriel if she could take Arion for a walk down the lane. “Just as far as that oak tree,” she said. “I can help him practise his walking.”

“Don’t go anywhere near the river,” Tauriel warned her firmly. “And bring him in if it rains.”

“Definitely nowhere near the river,” the girl assured her. “But I’ll teach him to swim when he gets older.”

Tauriel laughed. “I expect Thorin will fight you for that privilege,” she said. “He grew up next to a lake and he’s a strong swimmer.”

“Not like my dad, then,” Rose said. And off they set. 

“This is walking,” said Rose, swinging her arms and marching. Arion tried to do the same. “And these are bunny-hops.” Arion found that more difficult. “And this is skipping.” And they clasped hands and skipped down the road together.

“And this is your dear, old dad, returned from the dead,” said a rough voice, and a villainous-looking man stepped out from behind a tree.

For a moment, Rose stood in the middle of the road, too shocked to move.

“No,” snarled the man, “not drownded but washed up alive on the banks of the river and looking for his dear daughter ever since.” Rose gaped and said nothing. “Well, ain’t you got a kiss for your old dad, then?” But she backed away. “Found yourself a comfortable pad, ‘aven’t you?” continued the man, nodding towards the forge. “Well, sadly, it’s time for you to move on. You know I can’t do wivvout yer. We’re goin’ down to the Grey ‘Avens and shippin’ out from there.” And he led a horse and a donkey out from behind the bushes.

“Where did you get those from?” asked Rose, regaining her powers of speech.

“Where do I normally get things from?” he replied scornfully. “Got people on me tail. That’s why we’re takin’ a ship.” And he reached out to her.

“No,” said Rose defiantly. “I’m not coming with you. I’m staying here with my friends.”

“Friends, is it?” said her father, scornfully. “An elf and a dwarf? You need to stick with yer own kind.” And he looked down at Arion. “This their brat, then? Cor blimey! Must be one in a million! Good-lookin’ kid, though, I‘ll give ‘im that, for an ‘alf-breed.” And then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Get on the donkey, then, Rose,” he ordered. “We’ve gotta get out of here a bit sharpish.” But Rose looked stubborn and stood her ground.

“I’m staying here,” she said. But her father suddenly bent and swept Arion up in his arms, holding a knife to the boy’s throat.

“Well, I do believe you WILL be coming with me,” he said with a sneer, “and the brat too.” 

And Rose did as she was told. 

.o00o. 

“Have you seen Rose and Arion?” asked Tauriel at the entrance to the forge. “She took him for a walk, but that was several hours ago.” Concerned, Thorin dropped his tools and they both started searching for them.

“The river?” he asked with a sudden look of fear.

“No, I last saw them heading off down the lane towards the oak tree and that’s in the opposite direction.” They hurried down to the oak tree and searched for the children’s tracks. They found them but they suddenly disappeared as the tracks of a horse and a donkey made their appearance from behind the bushes.

“I knew it!” roared Thorin. “I knew she wasn’t to be trusted! She’s obviously met up with a partner and they’ve taken Arion with them. What else has she stolen, I wonder?”

“But – but why would she take Arion?” said Tauriel in considerable distress.

Thorin had his suspicions but he wasn’t going to share them at this moment. “They’re heading for the Grey Havens, by the looks of things – perhaps to make their getaway in a ship. With that donkey in tow, we’ve got a good chance of catching up with them.” And they raced back to the stables.

.o00o. 

Down at the docks of the Grey Havens, Rose was watching her father sell the horse and donkey to a group of men lounging about at the harbour entrance. He still had hold of Arion and, although she had been on the alert for an opportunity to escape with the toddler, none had presented itself so far and she knew that her father still had the knife hidden under his cloak.

“Nice to get sumfink for nuffink,” he grinned as he returned to her, jingling a pouch. “That’s the one we want.” And he nodded at a fast-going sea trader nearby. He edged her up the gangway onto the ship where busy-looking seamen pointed out the captain to him. He began to negotiate the price of their passage while Rose furtively looked around, assessing her chance of escape from the ship. If all else failed, she would have to wait until they had docked at journey’s end. It didn’t matter how far they travelled from Ered Luin, she WOULD get Arion back to his mother and father. She wondered what they were thinking and a lump came to her throat because she knew precisely what they must be thinking. And, at that moment, she truly hated her father and wished that he had been drowned.

Negotiations had changed direction and, with a lurch of horror, she registered what was being said.

“So,” the captain was saying, “in exchange for the boy, I will give you free passage and one hundred gold coins. He will sell well in the markets of the south.” Rose was horrified. The ship was a slaver and its crew were Corsairs. She had heard how they took down their black sails and disguised themselves when they entered the ports of the north to do regular trade but they weren’t averse to picking up the odd slave or two if the chance came. She launched herself screaming at her father, but he was ready for her and he kicked her away so that she went sprawling on the deck. The captain laughed: “And another thirty gold coins for the girl.”

“Done,” said her father. “She’s been nuffink but trouble since the day she was born.”

Rose looked around desperately for a means of escape; but the seamen were pulling up the gangplank, setting the sails and pushing off from the quay. She thought that terror and panic would overwhelm her. But then her father shoved Arion into her arms and said: “There you go. You wanted ‘im, you can ‘ave ‘im now. Nowhere for you to run for the moment.” And he gave a cruel laugh. “She’s a good nurse,” he said to the captain. And the captain laughed too and went about his business.

.o00o.

At that moment, Thorin and Tauriel were talking to the man who had bought the horse and donkey on the quay.

“Well, I just this minute bought ‘em. Seller was a rough-looking man with two kids. He was sailing south. Got on that trader there.” And he pointed to the sloop that was setting out for sea. They stared in anguish after the ship. They were too late. And then their anguish turned to horror as the captain arrogantly ran up his Corsair flag.

“Slavers,” whispered Tauriel. “She’s sold him to slavers.” And, in that moment, she thought she would never trust anyone again. 

The ship was heading for the harbour mouth. “Come on!” yelled Thorin. “There’s one more chance!” And they leapt onto their panting and lathered horses and galloped around the quay. They drew abreast with the ship and now Thorin could see Rose standing by the ship’s rail with Arion in her arms. She was staring back at them and he felt such a deep hatred for her that the power of his emotions shook him to his soul. He screamed at the patrol who manned the entrance to the harbour: “Corsairs! Corsairs! Raise the boom!” And the soldiers, immediately responding to his cry, began to raise the great chain that was slung across the harbour mouth.

The chain creaked and groaned and rose steadily from the sea bed, but the pirates laughed and the ship, with its shallow draught, skimmed over the top of the boom. Thorin and Tauriel watched in despair as the trader escaped.

Rose stood by the rail with Arion in her arms. She had seen the way that Thorin had looked at her and the look had been like a blow. For one moment, she had thought that the boom would stop the pirate ship, but they were passing over it and would soon be out on the open sea. And the only things that had brought any meaning to her life would soon be far behind. “Don’t be afraid,” she said to Arion quietly and he looked up at her trustingly. Then she clutched him tightly and jumped over the rail and into the water.

Her father saw her go and yelled but she was too fast for anyone to stop her. “Do something!” he blustered to the captain. “You’re losing two good slaves there!”

“No, not two,” said the captain, “just one. It’s a tragedy to lose the boy and I shall want my gold back; but I think the father should prove a reasonable substitute for the daughter.” And he called to his men to chain Rose’s father and take him below.

Rose and Arion plunged down and down into the water. Like babies do, Arion automatically held his breath but Rose thought her lungs would burst before they finally surfaced. Spluttering and coughing, she trod water, then she turned on her back, supporting Arion’s head, and made for the quay. She was a good swimmer and the quay seemed quite close, but the water was very cold and she only had the strength of a child. Her movements became slower and slower and, although her love for Arion kept her going for a surprising distance, she finally began to sink beneath the waves.

.o00o. 

Thorin and Tauriel had seen her jump and, suddenly, the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place. Not just Arion but Rose, too, had been kidnapped, and now she was trying to escape with their son. Thorin pulled off his boots and his heavy outer clothing and plunged into the dock. His powerful strokes brought him to their side just as they were disappearing from view and he grasped her mop of hair and pulled her to the surface. She still clutched Arion in an iron grip. He swam with them to a flight of stone steps leading down from the quay where Tauriel and some of the boom men waited to drag them ashore. “You can let go of him now, Rose,” said Thorin quietly. “His mother’s here.” And Tauriel took Arion in her arms, crying with relief.

Thorin struggled to his feet and lifted Rose onto his shoulder. He patted her on the back until she had coughed up the salty water and then he climbed tiredly up the steps. “You’re a brave girl,” he said. She wrapped her thin, little arms about his strong neck and wept into his shoulder. For the very first time in her life, she felt safe.

.o00o. 

They had managed to rehire their pretty house overlooking the estuary. They tucked the children into bed and their clothes were drying in front of the fire. Rose clung onto Thorin’s hand when he tried to leave the bedroom. “Don’t send me away. Please, don’t send me away,” she whispered. And he sat by her bed and stroked her hair.

“Now, why would I send you away?” he asked.

“Because you don’t like me,” she blubbed. “And because I stole your torc and kicked you in the leg and cut your arm. And me dad stole Arion and tried to sell ‘im. And because you always shout at me.”

“Hmmm, that’s a load of good reasons,” said Thorin seriously, stroking his beard. And she stared at him anxiously. “But, if I send you away, then Arion would miss you and Tauriel would miss you and, most of all, I would miss you.” Then he smiled and kissed her goodnight and Rose gave a deep, satisfied sigh and fell immediately asleep.

Tauriel had been listening at the door and, when he emerged, she hugged him and led him to their bedroom. “Shall I get you a hot drink and tuck you in and kiss you goodnight?” she asked with a grin. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind the goodnight kiss,” he smiled as he pulled her down between the sheets. “And I did have a list of other suggestions for ways in which you could make my miserable life happy.”

She lay on top of his broad chest and gazed down into his striking blue eyes. “Tell me,” she said, pulling his plaits teasingly.

“I forget,” he said in his deep, dark voice. “Perhaps you can help me remember.” And she helped him remember for the rest of the night.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin Goes to Town. The orcs are beginning to penetrate further south with their raids. Should Thorin move his family from their nice, quiet but isolated forge to the Grey Havens for their own safety? Or is the elven town a much more dangerous place to be, LOL, where the local ladies do a bit of fangurling to which the husbands object and someone from Rose's dodgy past turns up on the doorstep?


	6. Thorin Goes to Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Oakenshield family pack up and move to the Grey Havens for their own safety as the orcs close in. Good move? Hmmm. Was Rose’s adoption such a good idea or does she bring too much baggage from her past? Which are more dangerous: orcs - or men and elves? And the burning question is: do the women of the Grey Havens find Thorin too attractive for his own good?

Thorin goes to Town  
PT I 

Tauriel was asleep. The children were asleep. Thorin was awake. 

The sun was just rising, and, yes, it was lovely to be in bed with his wife, but he could have done without Arion, Rose and the dog. He glanced at the three dark heads that separated him from Tauriel. He had drawn the short straw and had the dog slobbering and snoring next to him on the pillow. The dog was called Dog and had shaggy, black fur. “I’m feeling outnumbered,” Tauriel had said, tossing back her golden hair and laughing at her dark-haired family lined up before her. Thorin had tried to persuade Rose and Arion that tadpoles made good pets but they had grown up and hopped away. And so, a dog it was.

This was becoming a bad habit, he thought. In the middle of the night, first Arion, then Rose and then Dog would finish up in their big bed. The bed seemed to grow smaller by the day. He was lying uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress and so he finally sighed and, giving up the unequal battle, slid from the bed and padded to the kitchen to make breakfast. This needed a family discussion.

There came a sharp rap at the door and it was Gandalf. The wizard looked with an amused expression at Thorin’s bleary-eyed appearance and, brushing past him, said: “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“If only you were,” muttered Thorin.

Gandalf’s arrival awoke the rest of the family and they all came tumbling into the room. He visited occasionally on his trips down from the North to the Grey Havens and Arion greeted him with glee. But Rose and the dog were new additions to the family. Rose stared at him curiously.

“That’s a big, pointy hat,” she said.

“Don’t be rude, Rose,” said Thorin.

But Gandalf smiled. “Yes, it’s a wizard’s hat. Do you like it?”

“Not if it’s got mice or pigeons or creepy-crawlies hidden underneath it,” said Rose with caution.

“No, none of that,” laughed Gandalf.

Rose looked vaguely disappointed. “Well, do you do magic tricks, then?”

“He’s not that sort of wizard, Rose,” smiled Tauriel, “but he IS famous for his fireworks. Perhaps you’ll get to see them somewhen.” And she sent the children off to get dressed.

Gandalf sat down for a serious talk with the dwarf and the elf.

“Your troop is doing wonders up at the outpost,” he said to Tauriel, “but things are getting worse. The orcs are beginning to mass in larger numbers on the borders. I think it’s time that you considered moving either up to the dwarven settlement or down to the Grey Havens.”

They had guessed this was coming but they still felt despondent. “It will have to be the Grey Havens,” said Thorin. I need to get commissions from the elves there and it’s nearer to the outpost when Tauriel has to visit.”

“Well, I think that all of you should come to the Grey Havens and try to get a few things organised in the next couple of days. We’re holding an important meeting about the current situation and we could do with input from both of you.” The old wizard began to gather his things together. “Sorry, can’t stay. Not even for breakfast.”

“Things must be serious then,” said Thorin.

Two days later, they locked up their home and the family set out on their horses with a packhorse and Dog trotting behind. Arion sat on Tauriel’s saddle-bow and Rose sat in front of Thorin. She idolised him and he thought the world of her – although newcomers would not have realised this because they still chipped away at each other. But, as far as Rose was concerned, Thorin had saved her life; and, as far as Thorin was concerned, Rose had saved his son’s life. She was as a daughter to him and she followed him around like a little shadow.

The packhorse carried all Thorin’s tools, gold and valuables. It was too dangerous to leave them even in his hiding-place and, as his wealth had grown, it seemed a good time to store things in the town vaults. “I don’t want to risk a thief taking anything this time,” he said, with a pertinent look at Rose.

“Ain’t you never gonna let me forget that?” she said indignantly.

“No,” laughed Thorin. “Not until Tauriel stops accusing me of stealing her golden dagger.”

It had become a family joke and the children giggled.

The horses ambled along and Thorin found himself involved in a conversation with Rose. She was always blunt. “You’re not backward in coming forward,” he had said to her once.

She knew Dis and had heard about the deaths of his nephews and of his brother, Frerin. “So, ain’t you got no other family ‘cept Dis, then?” she asked.

“Well, I’ve got Tauriel and Arion,” he repled mildly. “And I’ve got you and Dog too, I suppose,” he said with a sigh as if they were a great burden to him.

She giggled and elbowed him in the ribs. “Yep, ‘fraid you’re stuck with us. But what about your mum and dad?”

“My father, Thrain, was held in the dungeons of the Necromancer not so long ago, just before I went on my adventure with Bilbo. Gandalf tracked him down but he died. My mother died when I was very young and I hardly remember her.”

“I hardly remember my mum, either,” offered Rose in sympathy. “I remember she ‘ad black ‘air like me and I remember sleeping with her sometimes and ‘er name was Meg – but that’s all. Dad said she fell ill and died. But,” she said with cheerful unconcern, “what you’ve never ‘ad, you never miss.”

“You heartless little wretch,” he said with feeling.

But, she laughed and said: “Well, I’ve got Tauriel now and she’s the best mum in the world.”

“You might be right there,” grinned Thorin, but he wondered if she were as unconcerned about her dead mother as she sounded.

They reached the Grey Havens and the house they usually rented. “We really ought to think about buying our own,” said Tauriel, “if we decide to stay.”

They all knew the house but Thorin showed the children up to their bedrooms, wishing to make a point. “That one’s yours,” he said to Arion. “And that one’s yours,” he said to Rose. “And Dog can sleep with either of you. And this one,” he said, “belongs to me and Tauriel.” He glared at them sternly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Rose and Arion meekly.

“But,” said Rose, “can we sleep with you when we feel ill?”

Thorin hesitated. “Probably,” he said cautiously.

“And,” said Arion who was two now and could talk quite well, “if we see a monster, can we sleep with you?”

“Errr,” said Thorin.

“And if we get frightened of the dark, can we sleep with you?” grinned Rose.

“And can Dog sleep with you if he doesn’t understand the rules?” asked Arion.

“And if Dog sleeps with you, is it all right for us to join him?” said Rose.

“And can we sleep........?” they began in chorus.

“No! No! No!” yelled Thorin. “Those are your bedrooms and this is ours. Understood?”

They nodded but Thorin wondered if they had their fingers crossed behind their backs.

Dis arrived later to help them out until they got settled. It was market day and she and Rose went off to stock up while Arion had a nap. Thorin took Tauriel in his arms and gave a long sigh. “It seems weeks since I kissed you or even touched you,” he murmured. “There always seems to be a long line of children and animals standing in the way or sleeping between us.”

“Well, I don’t see any children at the moment,” she whispered breathlessly, “and the dog’s in the garden.”

He picked her up and carried her to their bedroom, supporting her in one strong arm whilst impatiently trying to undo her buttons with his free hand. Their clothing fell in an untidy pile on the floor and they fell laughing, giggling and panting upon the bed. She felt so good, thought Thorin, as he snuggled into her. Why had this beautiful elf chosen him above all others on Middle-earth? He felt such intense joy when he was with her that he must have done something right in life to deserve such bliss.

They got dressed quickly afterwards, in case Arion woke up or Dis and Rose came home. Life – and love-making – seemed such a scramble these days. They had only just got back down the stairs when there was a thundering at the door. On the door-step stood one of the town guards, firmly holding a glowering Rose by the scruff of the neck. “This one belong to you, sir?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” said Thorin, with a sigh. “What’s she done?”

“Stolen this, sir, from a market stall.” And he held up a toy wooden sword in a beautiful leather sheath.

“How much?” asked Thorin and then he gave the soldier double to recompense the stall holder for his trouble.

“Inside,” he said grimly to Rose as the soldier let her go. “Where’s Dis?”

“Still shopping,” answered Rose sullenly. “She don’t know I was caught.”

“I’m listening,” continued Thorin, folding his arms.

“It’s a present for Arion. I just wanted to get him something nice.”

“Well, you could have asked us for money,” exclaimed Tauriel as she joined in the conversation.

“But it wouldn’t have been from me, then, but from you,” she retorted.

“But, if you steal something, it’s still not from you,” snapped Thorin in exasperation. “It becomes a free donation from the stall-holder.”

“ ‘S’pose so,” said Rose still glowering at the floor and not looking very convinced.

After they had sent her off outside to wash and feed Dog, Tauriel said worriedly: “I’m not quite sure if bringing Rose to town was the best idea. She’s still got so much to learn.”

“Or UN-learn,” grimaced Thorin.  
.o00o.   
PT II

Next morning, as the early sun filtered through the window shutters and the gulls wheeled, screaming, overhead, Thorin leaned over his wife and kissed her tenderly with a happy sigh. “That was a wonderful night,” he said. His dark hair fell in a great mass about his face and shoulders.

“Yes, wonderful,” murmured Tauriel, thinking that he looked like a pirate. She reached up to stroke his silky beard and gently tug his long plaits. “No children; no dog. What DID you say to them?”

“Oh, not much,” her husband grinned. “Just threatened to skin them alive. And the suggestion that they might not get cake today might have had something to do with it too.”

She lifted her face for another kiss and then laughed.

“Now what?” said Thorin.

“I was just thinking about something that Lostwithiel said last week about the stamina of dwarves.”

Thorin nuzzled her throat and said huskily: “Would you like another demonstration?”

“Well, I would definitely like it,” she responded, kissing his ear, “but I think we’d better tidy up.”

Thorin groaned and reached down for their nightshirts which lay discarded on the floor. Then he went to the door and unlocked it. “Good inventions, keys,” he said. Then he returned to their bed and they lay together watching the sun rise higher over the beautiful estuary.

There was a quiet tap on the door. “Yes,” he sighed. The door opened cautiously and three little faces peeked around its edge. “Come in, then,” he offered.

There was a communal whoop and Arion, Rose and Dog hurtled across the room and leapt into the bed, trampling over Thorin’s chest and face in their rush to snuggle down between the long-suffering dwarf and elf. “The start of another day,” said Thorin to his wife.

.o00o. 

Later that morning, as Rose and Arion helped Dis make the promised cake, Thorin and Tauriel set out to investigate a building that might provide the smith with a suitable forge. The site was a mile away, high up on the hill, on the edge of the town. There was the wreck of a house, burned down in a fire, and a large, overgrown garden. But there was also a solid, stone outbuilding which Thorin thought he could convert for his work purposes. “And, who knows,” he added, “if we decide to stay, perhaps we could buy and rebuild the house.”

“Well, I suppose this will have to do,” sighed Tauriel, thinking that she would miss the sound of his hammering next door. “But, it’s not exactly convenient, is it? It’s a bit out of the way.”

“Convenient for what?” murmured Thorin, drawing her into the barn and shutting the door behind her. “It’s definitely not convenient for dogs or children.”

.o00o. 

That afternoon, they talked about the council of men and elves that was being called in the town that evening. Gandalf had asked for them both to be there but Tauriel preferred not to go. She hadn’t forgotten her experiences at Thranduil’s feast three years previously.

“There’s still a lot of animosity towards us,” she said, “especially from the elves.”

“But they’re always pleasant to me when they consult me over commissions,” Thorin tried to reassure her.

Tauriel sighed. “That’s because they want something from you. And I think they hate me more because they feel I have betrayed them in some way.”

“But, what about Elrond and the elves at Rivendell? They were wonderful to us when you had Arion.”

“Again, that was different,” she said. “Elrond is half-elven so they have a better understanding of our situation.” She had been happy at the forge and was already beginning to regret their move to the town.

“And what about your elven troop up at the outpost? We both get on well with them,” Thorin persisted.

“That’s because they know us so well and we’ve been through a lot together.” She would never tell him how Lostwithiel had made his way to her bed because he had despised her so much.

“But, unless we mix with the people of this town, we will never give them the chance to know us. There will always be some who hate us but we need to give those who are willing the opportunity to find out that we are really just like them.”

But Tauriel was adamant. She discussed her views of the dangerous situation in Ered Luin and how her men could contribute but would not go with him.

And so, Thorin set out on his own. At first, he wondered if Tauriel had been right. The Grey Havens was an elven town and so the council chamber was mainly packed with elves plus some of the prominent men in the town. There were no other dwarves. He was glowering alone in a corner when Gandalf arrived and immediately made his way to Thorin. “No Tauriel?” he asked.

“No,” said Thorin shortly. Gandalf understood and didn’t need long explanations.

“They will accept you in the end,” he said. “The elves here have always lived on the perimeter of Middle-earth. Their experiences, even over thousands of years, have not been as intense as your experiences in only two hundred. You have been at the centre of things for most of your life and you understand things that they don’t. In the end, they will realise your worth and take you into this community.”

The council was convened, the lamps were lit and Gandalf was invited to the high table; but Thorin sat in the shadows at the far end of the room. As the meeting progressed, and they discussed how to protect the rural areas of Ered Luin from orc attacks, he felt more and more frustrated at their inability to comprehend the situation and began to understand what Gandalf had been saying about their inexperience. Some of their suggestions were totally lacking in foresight.

Finally, Gandalf held up his hand and, when there was silence, he turned towards the dwarf and said: “Has the great Thorin Oakenshield nothing to say on the matter?”

They all turned towards him and he could see that, indeed, many believed that he, a dwarf, had nothing worthwhile to say on the matter.

“You are fools,” he rumbled, and the candlelight flickered across the powerful planes of his features, “if you think that persuading all the farmers to pack up and move to the town or that sending out your forces from this town to wander around in the fond hope of encountering an orc raiding party will serve any purpose.”

“Why are we fools?” snapped one of them.

“Because if the farmers cannot farm, we shall all starve and if your own soldiers aren’t here and the town is attacked, then the Grey Havens will fall.” And he flung them a contemptuous look.

They all felt his scorn and were angry. A clamour arose and ran around the room.

“He knows nothing!” shouted one important trader.

“Oh, I think he does,” smiled Gandalf. “Survivor of the wrath of Smaug, legendary warrior from the dwarf and goblin wars, leader of dwarves, elves and men at the Battle of the Five Armies, married to a former captain of Thranduil’s guard who is now captain of our most important outpost, and, of course, weapons’ trainer and advisor. Oh, definitely, I think he does!”

The elves and men fell silent but still looked askance at him. “Well, what would you do then?” he was finally asked.

“I would leave your soldiers here in their barracks, ready for action at a moment’s notice; I would fortify the dwarven settlement and a dozen of the largest farms to create refuges; I would make sure that every single cottage, farm and settlement was well stocked with food and with weapons, especially arrows, so that they could all withstand a short siege if attacked. I would ensure they had an early warning system, especially at night, in the form of night watches but, if the men weren’t available, at least in the shape of dogs and even geese. And, they should all be able to communicate their danger to each other, perhaps through beacons.”

The council members sat there blinking for a moment, trying to think of ways to pick holes in his ideas. Finally, one said: “And who’s going to organise all this fortification or even teach farmhands how to shoot bows?”

“The men of my wife’s outpost could train ten men each and each of those could train ten. Skills would spread quickly,” replied Thorin.

“And if they’re under siege and have been taken unawares,” said another, “how will they light the beacons? The orcs will soon put those out anyway.”

“I said PERHAPS with beacons.” Thorin turned to Gandalf and grinned. “Or perhaps our good wizard can supply every homestead with a handful of his famous fireworks which could be launched from within the house – up the chimney, perhaps?”

And, although everyone present could see the sense of this idea, the thought of Gandalf’s fireworks shooting up chimneys amused them so much that they all began to laugh. “Well said, indeed, dwarf,” many of them began to admit. And soon the room was full of enthusiastic discussions centring upon Thorin’s ideas.

When the evening finished, Thorin felt a warmth from the townspeople he had never experienced before. They clapped his back in farewell and a number of them handed out invitations to both himself and his family. “You did well,” smiled Gandalf. “Tauriel should be pleased.”

But, when he got home, he was unsure as to whether Tauriel was pleased or not. In fact, she wasn’t certain how she felt, either. They had been invited to a family event in the woods near the estuary and she and Thorin had also been invited to a gathering at the home of one of the elves. “I’m sure the children will enjoy the picnic and the chance to meet other children,” she said, “but I’m not so sure I can cope with another elven gathering.” And she rolled her eyes up at the memory of Thranduil’s.

Before they could discuss it further, there was a knock at the door. When they opened it, they found a strapping but rather blowsy woman standing there. She might have been good-looking once; her hair was dark and curling upon her shoulders and her clothes were rather bright and made of coarse material.

“ ‘Allo,” she said. “Can I come in? I’m Rose’s mum.” 

.o00o. 

PT III

“I’m Rose’s mum,” said the woman again. Thorin and Tauriel just stood there. Suddenly, Rose came up curiously behind them, wondering who the woman was. The woman saw her, pushed past dwarf and elf and clasped Rose to her bosom. “Oh, what it is,” she said dramatically, “for a mother to clasp a daughter in her arms once more!” Rose stood there as stiff as a poker but when the woman said the word “mother”, she pushed away from her.

“Mother?” she said in a shocked voice.

“Ah, listen to ‘er! She recognises me! After all these years!” And the woman forcibly clasped Rose in her arms once more. But Rose wriggled and struggled and freed herself again, standing there panting and looking with horrified eyes at this strange woman who had suddenly appeared in her life.

“Such a pretty little babby as she was and ‘er now grown up even more pretty. I remember the day that ‘er dad ran off with ’er, leaving me to search and search.......But a muvver will go to the ends of the earth on ‘er knees to find ‘er child.” And she produced a large handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “And she still wears the necklace!” she cried. And from her pocket she withdrew a tiny locket that was the matching half of the one that Rose had always worn about her neck. 

“You’re not – you’re NOT my mother!” screamed Rose and ran up the stairs and slammed the door of her bedroom.

Thorin and Tauriel pulled themselves together, invited her in and had the full story from her. Her name was Meg and she and Rose’s father had never got on and, when she threatened to leave him “because of his thievin’ ways”, he had stolen the toddler away and she had not seen Rose from that day. It was a tragic tale she told of how she had travelled up and down Middle-earth, mixing with vagabonds and knaves, in her attempts to trace Rose and her father. At last, she had reached Ered Luin and had heard of the smith and his adopted daughter, Rose. Could they imagine her distress when she had found the forge locked and barred? But now, at last, she had found her!

“And I wish I could pay you for everyfink you’ve done for ‘er but I’ve ‘ardly a penny to me name. So, I ‘ope you will take a muvver’s thanks instead,” she went on.

“Of course,” said Tauriel. “We want nothing. But what will you do with her now?”

“Aye, me,” said Meg, placing her hand on her bosom and casting her eyes up to heaven, “we shall travel the open road together, on highways and byways, getting ‘onest work where we can, just glad to ‘ave each other at last.”

“But you can’t do that to her,” cried Thorin. “She’s only eight, a little girl. She’s settled here. Why don’t you just leave her with us – we’d look after her!” Rose was going to be taken away from him and he was horrified.

The woman’s eyes flashed. “So,” she said, “you’d separate a daughter from ‘er muvver – and after all I’ve done to find ‘er. Well, you shan’t ‘ave her. I’d rather die!” And she burst into tears. Tauriel put her arms around her and told her that this was not their intention, that they loved Rose and were willing to do anything to help.

A sly look came into Meg’s face. “Now, it’s not that I want to take my Rose away from people ‘oo she’s learned to love and ‘oo love ‘er. But a muvver’s love ‘olds fast too. ‘Ow about I stay on ‘ere as ‘er nurse?” And she glanced around the large room. “Looks like you could find a little bit o’ space for me to fit in.”

Thorin snorted: “Well, I think she’s too big for a nurse.......”

“But,” Tauriel interrupted, giving him a look, “we could probably use a housekeeper.”

“’Ousekeeper, eh?” said Meg. “Wiv a big bunch o’ keys? I’ve allus fancied a big bunch o’ keys.”

“Yes,” said Tauriel quickly. “I’m sure we could arrange a big bunch of keys.”

Rose had crept back downstairs and was now standing in the corner of the room. “You said that you’d never send me away!” she cried at Thorin.

“Well, I’m not,” he said. “You’ll still be staying here. And so will your mother.”

.o00o. 

That night, Meg took over Rose’s bedroom and Rose moved in with Arion and Dog.

Thorin lay in bed with Tauriel and said: “What is it about us that attracts waifs and strays? We know nothing about her. She could murder us in our sleep.”

“But what choice do we have?” asked Tauriel.

“No choice,” said Thorin.

.o00o. 

The next day was the family picnic down amongst the trees near the estuary. There was a mixture of elf lords and rich men from the town with their wives and children. The elves were slow to reproduce and so Rose and Arion found themselves playing mostly with the offspring of men. Tauriel had reluctantly agreed to come but was pleasantly surprised at how welcome they made her and Thorin and how interested everyone was in her outpost, in Thorin’s work and in his plans to defend the area. 

It was also the first time that most people had seen the children and they were the objects of great admiration too which pleased her mother’s heart. “What very, very beautiful children!” they exclaimed. And, certainly, this was not a lie. At two, Arion had grown up fast, his elven blood making him seem older than his years. He was an intelligent and articulate little boy and there was something so fascinating about him that the assembled company found it difficult to take their eyes off him. He looked like his father – and yet he didn’t. Like Thorin, he was very handsome with a mass of black hair that was already beginning to flow down his back. His eyes were the same startling blue and he looked set fair to grow up strong and well-muscled, broad of shoulder and strong of limb. And yet, at some angles, he looked like his mother and, although he was still young, he moved with that special grace that only belonged to the elves; and, already, he was very tall.

The guests were not exactly sure who Rose was. She did not appear to have elven blood in her nor did she appear to be a dwarf. But she also looked like Thorin with her mass of dark, curling hair and blue eyes. She wore a pretty dress and was excessively pretty herself. Her eyes danced and sparkled and she exuded a confidence well beyond her years. The other children were fascinated by her and followed her around, wanting her to play with them and lead them in all their games.

Meg had insisted on coming too. She wore a gaudy red and blue dress with a plunging neckline and the guests also felt confused about her identity. She dressed like a servant and yet there was a haughty tilt to her head that spoke of something more.

Soon the gossip started.

The men and the elf lords found themselves admiring and envying Thorin. They admired his masculine arrogance and his sharp mind that was designed for war-like times such as they were experiencing now. They envied him for having won as his bride a beautiful elf and nudged each other and made jokes about what it was that had appealed to Tauriel. And yet, unlike the lascivious innuendos of three years previously, this time they could see what it was about him that must have attracted her.

The women and elven ladies also found themselves admiring Thorin. They all agreed that he was very handsome and that there was something very dashing about the way he tossed back his mane of black hair. And he was so strong! The elf-lords were slender and lithe. The rich burghers of the town had a tendency to well-fed portliness. But here, in contrast, was someone who had such a powerful build that the ladies giggled together as they imagined him working in his forge. And what work he produced! Jewellery of such astonishing beauty that they all desired to possess it. Work of such fine detail that they looked at his large hands and they looked at the lovely Tauriel and imagined the delicacy of his touch. They found it difficult not to ogle him.

And who was Rose? And who was this woman, Meg? They had their suspicions and these suspicions were confirmed by Rose herself. One of the women was sitting and watching the children play when she overheard a little girl ask Rose who her mother was. And she rather reluctantly pointed to Meg. And then she was asked who her father was and she pointed to Thorin. When the woman spread this delicious morsel of information, the other ladies shivered with delight. And so he was living with both his wife and his leman; and he had children by both of them. He was just so – so – virile, they whispered, and they nearly swooned.

The men and elf lords were equally amazed at these two lovers that Thorin seemed to have acquired and the two beautiful children he had produced with them. “Virile” was also a word that sprang to their lips too and they nudged each other and whistled through their teeth.

For various reasons, not comprehended by either the dwarf or his wife, Thorin had risen considerably in everyone’s opinion. 

.o00o. 

PT IV

Over the next few days, Meg got her big bunch of keys, Dis went home and Thorin managed to construct a furnace at his “forge”. The family seemed ready for their new life at the Grey Havens.

“Come and try this on,” said Tauriel as she held out some new clothes she had made for Thorin. His wardrobe at the old forge had consisted of shirts and breeches. In their secluded spot, nothing else was needed except when he went up to the outpost and he got his fighting gear out. Thorin had felt uncomfortable at the council a few nights earlier wearing his old velvet clothes that had come with him all the way back from the Lonely Mountain. They had been invited to a sophisticated evening with an elf-lord and other important people of the town that night and Thorin felt it was time for something new. Tauriel had set to work and had made a lovely outfit, the highlight of which was a short-sleeved, dark blue top, made of heavy silk and embroidered in silver.

“Your mithril belt will look well with this,” she commented. “And perhaps you could wear your silver arm-rings.” She gave him an amused smile. “I think that will give you a suitably barbaric look. That’s how a lot of them imagine you, after all.”

“And perhaps I should also go with my silver dagger down the side of my boot,” said Thorin with a raised eyebrow.

“Perfect,” said Rose. “That’s where I always carried mine. Good place.”

She sat with Arion and Dog on the bed and all three nodded in agreement over these final last touches.

“And you’ll be good for your mother while we’re out this evening, won’t you?” said Tauriel. “Arion will already be in bed but you’re to do exactly what she says and when she says that you’re to go to bed too, you’ll go.” A sullen look came over Rose’s face but she nodded her agreement. Thorin decided that they would come home early, just in case.

The children ate an evening meal that Meg had made for them (not nearly as appetising as that dished up by Dis, Thorin thought), Tauriel put Arion to bed and then they got ready. When they were dressed, they went downstairs to the locked cupboard where they kept some of their more valuable items. Meg and Rose stood in a corner of the room as Thorin donned his belt, arm-rings and dagger and Tauriel chose a silver necklace, beautifully crafted by Thorin, to go with her pale, sea-green gown. She twirled on the spot in front of Rose and Thorin held out his arms for their inspection. “Well?” he said.

Rose’s eyes glowed. “Lovely,” she breathed. Meg tried to look more closely at the contents of the cupboard before Thorin locked the door.

The mansion of the elf-lord was very striking. It seemed almost organic as it rose above a hill overlooking the harbour, its stone and metal twisting and turning in graceful arches and traceries. As a fine backdrop, it seemed to suit Tauriel and reflected her delicate beauty but it made Thorin look almost brutal, a ruthless and savage warlord, as he mounted the steps with Tauriel on his arm. Heads turned as they entered. Rumors about his home life had been spreading and everyone wanted to see this dwarf smith who had once been a king but who now lived with two women and had two children by them.

Tauriel’s expectation of their reaction was not far off the mark. Both Thorin’s body and his demeanour exuded power and the ladies talked about him behind their hands. Few dwarves were seen in the Grey Havens and few dwarves looked like Thorin, especially dressed as he was tonight. The hair of the beardless elves was straight, smooth and shining; the rich, middle-aged men of the town were going bald; but Thorin’s hair curled in a wild mass down past his shoulders and his beard and plaits, as Tauriel often thought, gave him the look of a sea raider, dark and dangerous. His build was strong and muscular, and the silken material of his clothing moulded itself to his well-knit frame. The silver arm-rings were tight about his biceps, underlining just how muscular he was. The colour of the silk deepened the extraordinary blue of his eyes which gazed out from under dark lashes, staring unwaveringly about the room. The mithril belt and silver dagger that Rose had insisted he wear down his boot added that final touch of barbaric splendour. He drew the mesmerised attention of the entire gathering.

There was no rejection of this odd couple tonight. Tauriel looked glorious in her beautiful gown and she and her husband made a very special pair. All the guests manoeuvred their way politely but firmly across the room in the hope that the two would engage in conversation with them. And their conversation fascinated the jaded elves and easily bored townsfolk. Lostwithiel was there and he grinned to see the impact that his two favourite people were having on the room.

After a group of elves had given a recital of pretty elven songs, Lostwithiel picked up a harp and, approaching Thorin, asked him to treat the assembled company to a dwarven song. Thorin was reluctant. The evening was going so well that he didn’t want to do anything that would damage it. Dwarven songs were just so different from those of the elves. They were mournful and sad and deep-throated. They sang of things that were very dear to dwarves and suddenly he was afraid of mockery. But Tauriel took his arm and nodded at him to go ahead.

And so he took the harp and stood before them. It is true that the lips of many quivered slightly to see such a beautiful and finely-made instrument being held in the great hands of a dwarf. A few almost expected to hear a cacophonous sound emerge. But Thorin suddenly stroked his fingers over the strings with such delicacy and skill that all who heard felt they were listening to the wind among the pines and the room fell silent. Then Thorin started to sing in his deep, thrilling baritone. He sang of his home, the Lonely Mountain, and he sang of the dwarven love of beautiful things made by hand and by cunning and by magic:

On silver necklaces they strung  
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung  
The dragon-fire, in twisted wire  
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Both elves and men stood entranced as the fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves, moved through them. Thorin finished with a final, shivering sweep across the strings and the room remained folded in silence. Then he put the harp down and it seemed to break the spell. The guests erupted into loud applause and even more of them jostled to speak with him. But many of the women, the wives and daughters of the fat burghers in particular, stood transfixed, unable to do anything but gawp at this handsome smith and feeling totally devastated by his rough charm.

.o00o. 

It was late. Thorin and Tauriel had still not come home and Rose lay in bed and listened to the creaking on the landing. Her mother was supposed to be in bed too, so what was it that she could hear? She slipped out of bed and quietly padded down the stairs. The light of a candle shone from the salon and she crept to the door. Inside the room, Meg was carefully unlocking the cupboard that contained the valuables with a key from the bunch she now carried at her waist. Like a fury, Rose charged into the room and her startled mother dropped the key. Rose pounced on it.

“I KNEW you were up to no good!” she hissed. “You’re not here for me, are you? You’re just here to see what you can steal from Thorin and Tauriel!”

Meg pulled herself together quickly. “Now, dearie, as if I would do that and after all they’ve done for me. No, I was just checkin’ that the cupboard was locked. Tossin’ and turnin’ I was in bed, wonderin’ whether he had turned the key or not before ‘e went out.” And she looked shocked at Rose’s accusations.

“I don’t believe you,” snapped Rose, “and I’m keeping this key just to prove that I don’t. It would make my day if I woke up tomorrow and found you gone!”

“Ah, the cruelty of children,” sighed Meg. “But your muvver forgives you. As if I’d leave you here all on your own.” And she gave Rose a sad smile and went off to her bed. “If I go, you go,” she said as she ascended the staircase.

Rose was nearly in tears. She would do anything to remove her mother from the home of Thorin and Tauriel. She had grown up with villains from the underworld of Middle-earth and she recognised one when she saw one. And now this woman – her own mother – was operating in her home. She must think what she could do. She needed a plan that would result in her own removal from the house and then her mother would have to leave too. She would NOT let her take advantage of the two people she loved most in the world.

.o00o. 

Thorin was working in his new forge. He felt elated over the success of the previous night. Quite a few of the women had said they wanted to commission work from him and promised that they would visit his forge soon to discuss designs. So, he wasn’t surprised to find three of them standing on his doorstep later that morning. Two of them were wives of rich and prominent men in the town and one was the daughter of a wealthy trader and ship-owner. They giggled when he invited them in and leaned over him too closely when he started drawing designs for their commissions. Thorin began to feel uncomfortable and so was relieved when they said he had given them enough ideas to mull over and made ready to depart with his sketches. But, just as they were on the doorstep, the trader’s daughter suddenly reached into her pocket.

“Oh, Thorin, I nearly forgot!” And she brought out a pretty gold necklace with a broken chain. He examined it, said it was an easy repair and agreed to deliver it that afternoon. The three women grinned at each other and set off home. As they left, a scrawny and rascally-looking man stepped out from behind a tree and hurried back into the town.

Thorin didn’t know it yet, but it was going to be a very busy day.

Later that afternoon, there was some heavy drinking going on in The Mithril Crown. A group of men who had been at the elf-lord’s house the previous evening looked dourly at each other across their cups of wine.

“My wife won’t stop talking about him,” said one.

“No, neither will mine,” said another. “I think he’s going to cause us trouble.”

The big, bluff ship-owner grunted: “My daughter just sits at the window, sighing. He’s got two lovers already but, given a chance, I reckon half the women of this town would move in with him. He’s got a whole army of them out there all ready to descend on him!” And he glowered and cracked his knuckles.

The scrawny lurker outside the forge suddenly slid into a seat next to them. The men knew him. He had his uses. 

“Now here’s me thinking, after what I seen this morning,” he said slyly, “that you men don’t deserve to hold onto your women, what wiv you not keeping a close enough eye on them, an’ all. If I were you, Ned,” he said to the ship-owner, “I’d be running off home right now ter see what that girl of yours is up to. And,” he said, grinning at the other two men, “I’d also keep a close eye on those wives of yourn if they were mine.”

Ned pushed his chair back and hurried off while the other two men bent their heads closer to their informer.

.o00o. 

Thorin had finished the repair on the necklace and was at that precise moment knocking on the ship-owner’s door. Elspeth, the daughter, let him in and showed him into a quiet room at the back of the house. Thorin began to feel uncomfortable again when she closed the door behind him. He produced the necklace but she turned around and coyly asked him to put it on for her. The clasp was small and difficult and Thorin struggled with it, his fingers brushing her bare neck. She shivered and, as he finished, she grabbed his hand and pressed it against her breast. “Oh, Thorin,” she gasped, “I’ve thought of nothing else but you since last night.” And she turned and kissed him passionately on the mouth.

Thorin didn’t know what to do. In the ways of love, he had a certain innocence. This girl was his customer and all he wanted to do was extricate himself from her arms as politely and firmly as possible. But she was a big, strong lass and she soon had him pressed up against the wall, her lips creating a vacuum on his and her hands scrabbling with determination at his clothes. He felt quite shocked at the way one of her hands soon had his shirt undone whilst the other was making pretty successful headway as far as the unbuckling of his belt and his breeches was concerned. At the same time, she was wriggling her upper body in such a way that her shoulder-skimming dress began to fall from them and soon she was ripping off his shirt and was pressing herself provocatively against him. “Take me! Take me now!” she moaned, whilst all Thorin could do was flatten himself against the wall, his arms splayed apart, his eyes wide and hunted, as he desperately tried to pull his mouth away from the suction of her lips upon his own. 

The door to the room was suddenly flung wide with a violent bang. “Get out of my house, you scum,” roared Ned, entering the room at this inopportune moment. Thorin opened his mouth to protest his innocence but seeing that Ned was in no mood for a sensible discussion, clutched his clothes about him and made a swift exit, heading for the security of his own home.

.o00o. 

Also at this precise moment, Rose was putting her plan for her own eviction into action and was mustering her troops on the edge of the market square. The group of twenty children listened to their leader, wide-eyed and expectant.

“So, ‘ere’s the game we’re gonna play. When I say the word, we charge through the market as fast as we can, grabbing what we can. An’ when we get to the other side, we turn around and charge back again. The person who ‘as grabbed the most things is the winner!”

It sounded like a good game and, upon her shout, they belted hell for leather across the square.

.o00o. 

Thorin had only just got home when a knock came at the door and a soldier was standing on the step with a wriggling Rose in his hand. “Come in,” Thorin sighed.

“Well, this time it’s a bit worse, sir. She led a big pack of kids through the market and back again at a run. They knocked people over, grabbed things off the stalls and had some of the stalls over too. There’s quite a bit of damage. And the other kids come from decent homes. Their parents are in a fair uproar over it all. Acting like they want your daughter’s scalp.” He gave Thorin a sympathetic look. “Got young’uns meself. Know what they can be like. But you’d better see me tomorrow to sort it out.”

Thorin shut the door and turned to Rose. “Well?” he said.

“Well, I just felt like doin’ it,” said Rose, kicking the leg of a chair. “This is a stupid place full of stupid children. And I hate it.” She stared defiantly at him.

Thorin had had enough. “All right, I think it’s bed-time. No supper for you.” He pointed to the door and she banged out of the room.

There was another knock and Thorin rolled up his eyes. A scrawny, disreputable man stood there. “I’ve got information to sell,” he said. “And I think you’ll be very interested in what I have to say.”

Thorin invited him in, offered him a cup of wine and sat across the table from him.

“Tell me.”

“It’s about that Meg woman, Rose’s mother.” Thorin leaned forward with interest.

“Well, ‘er name’s not Meg and she ain’t ‘er mother.” 

Thorin leaned back and smiled. “Tell me more,” he said and passed over a gold coin.

“I knew the real Meg and ‘er ‘usband. Moved in the same circles, so to speak. So did Evie, ‘er what’s callin’ ‘erself Meg. I can remember Rose when she was a baby but then ‘er mum died. Evie was nursin’ ‘er.”

“Ah,” said Thorin. “So that’s how she got the silver necklace.”

“Well, yes,” said the informer, “if Meg ‘ad anyfink valooble on ‘er when she died, Evie would’ve ‘ad it off her afore she was cold.”

Thorin handed over another gold coin and thanked him.

“Just one more thing,” said the man. “I’ve got a friend oo’s got somefink else to tell yer, if yer willin’ to pay. ‘E could meet yer round the back of The Mithril Crown at 10 o’clock tonight, if yer like.”

Thorin liked. And the man slunk away.

.o00o. 

It was 10 o’clock at the back of The Mithril Crown. It was very dark. Thorin could see no-one there. Suddenly his informer moved out of the shadows.

“Ah!” said Thorin, taking a step forward. But he got no further as a cosh struck the back of his head. He grunted and fell to his knees. A big boot kicked him in the face. He fell to the ground. Another big boot kicked him in the ribs. All the breath left his body.

“And that’s just a little warning,” whispered a voice in his ear. “Just leave our women alone. Don’t come anywhere near them. ANYWHERE!”

And as he heard the sound of footsteps walk away, Thorin also heard the chink of coins as money exchanged hands.

.o00o. 

“Ow!” said Thorin. “That hurt!”

“Serves you right,” said Tauriel, dabbing ferociously with a damp cloth at his bruised and bloodied face. He had a black eye, a cut on his forehead and a split lip. “Just how stupid can you get, going out late at night to meet someone you don’t know up a dark alley?” And she burst into tears.

He kissed her as best he could with his split lip and hugged her as well as may be against his bruised ribs. “It’s been a long day, Tauriel,” he sighed. “Take me to bed and kiss it better. I’ve got to get up early in the morning to sort a few things out.”

The next day, a few things were sorted. Thorin awoke at dawn to hear a curious bumping on the stairs. He pulled on some clothes and emerged from his room to find Rose hauling a well-filled pack down the steps. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked sternly.

“Cor!” said Rose when she turned around and saw his face. “I bet that hurts!”

“Don’t sidetrack, Rose,” he responded. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leavin’, of course, before you throw me out. And I’ll take me mum with me. I’m obviously causin’ too much trouble. This just hasn’t worked.”

Thorin folded his arms across his chest. “Nobility of purpose doesn’t suit you, Rose,” he said.

“What you goin’ on about?” said Rose, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Just go and fetch Meg,” he said, “and then I’ll tell you.”

Meg emerged from her room.

“You’ve got ten minutes to pack and go – Evie,” he said.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“And I’ll have that silver locket before you go, too,” he added.

She handed over the locket and was packed and gone in five minutes without another word. Rose just stood there looking confused.

Thorin sat her on his lap and said gently, “Your mother really is dead, Rose, and that woman was just pretending to be her. I know what you were trying to do to resolve the situation but – I wish you wouldn’t try so hard. Just understand that you’re my daughter and that you’re here to stay, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” echoed Tauriel as she entered the room. And she gave them both a hug. “Right, now, everybody, let’s go.”

“Go where?” asked Rose.

“Back to the forge at the crossroads, of course,” said Tauriel.

Rose’s eyes lit up. “But isn’t it dangerous there?”

“Not as dangerous as this town,” said Thorin. And everyone had to agree. 

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Thorin and the Spots, Thorin brings back more than luggage from the Grey Havens. Do dwarves get “man ‘flu” too? Well, yes. And does our brave warrior suffer nobly? Well, no, LOL! We get to find out how Thorin behaves when he is ill and we also find out more about Rose’s wretched past.


	7. Thorin and the Spots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This episode was written at the request of a reader who wondered what kind of a patient Thorin would make if he ever became ill. Guess, LOL ! We also find out more unpleasant details about Rose’s past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains some details of child cruelty.

Thorin and the Spots  
Pt I 

The Oakenshield family had just got back from their failed attempt to move to the Grey Havens. Tauriel was up at the outpost and Thorin was sleeping on his own. It was only for one night but he hated it. In his sleep, he reached out for her across the bed, only to find her gone. Her absence disturbed his dreams. He was lost in a huge mansion and he was calling for her, opening door after door, only to find every room empty. He began to panic: what would he do if he never found her? 

An orc stood on the corner of a long corridor. “She went that way,” he growled, hooking his thumb down into the dark recesses. Thorin started to run but the corridor seemed to lengthen and he wondered if he would ever reach the end. “Tauriel!” he called frantically.

A Corsair pirate stuck his head out from a room and pointed to the door opposite. “She’s in there,” he said. Thorin flung open the door and rushed inside. There was no floor, only a dark hole, and Thorin found himself falling. He landed with a crash on a huge pile of gold and Smaug, woken from his sleep, breathed fire upon him. Thorin staggered away but his armour was red hot. I’m roasting alive, he thought. And he struggled to free himself from the breast plate whilst the sweat poured down his face and his chest.

“Lie down,” said Rose.

“But I’m hot, Rose, and I need Tauriel,” he told her.

“Tauriel’s coming,” said Rose. “Just lie down and close your eyes.”

And so he did as he was told and when he opened his eyes again, he was back in his room and Tauriel was there and she was holding a cool, wet cloth against his forehead. 

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Very hot,” he said, moving restlessly on his pillow.

“You’ve got a fever,” she said. “Rose looked after you until I got here. She heard you yelling in your sleep and found you in a bit of a state.”

Thorin felt confused. “Smaug got me,” he said, “and I couldn’t find you.”

“Bad dreams,” said Tauriel gently, and she placed another cold compress upon his forehead.

“Is ‘e awake?” said Rose from the doorway. Thorin glanced across to the doorway and burst out laughing.

“What’s wrong with your face?” he asked.

“Well, if you think I look daft, you should see yourself,” she said indignantly.

Thorin looked startled and Tauriel smiled. “Yes, you do look pretty dreadful, Thorin,” she said. And she held up a small hand mirror.

Thorin stared at his reflection. Not only was he flushed but he was covered in large, red spots.

“You’ve got a lot more than me,” said Rose. “And I didn’t get no fever neither.”

“What is it?” asked Thorin, looking quite anxious.

“Haven’t you seen it before? It’s called The Spot. Rose probably picked it up from her friends in the Grey Havens,” smiled Tauriel. “It’s usually only children who get it; but if you catch it when you’re older, it can be a lot worse. People have been known to die from it.”

Thorin suddenly looked even more worried. “Won’t you get it too?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “elves can’t catch it – we tend not to pick up diseases. It’s an illness of dwarves and men.”

“What about Arion?” was his next concern.

“I don’t know,” she said, “so I’m keeping him away from both of you for the moment. The infectious stage lasts ten days.”

“Ten days!” Thorin exploded. “I can’t be ill for ten days!”

“Yes, you can, Thorin,” she said sternly, “and you’re going to spend it in bed so that you don’t have a relapse.....And you too, miss,” she added, turning to Rose who was still standing in the doorway, grinning. “Get back to your room.”

Rose’s face fell and she reluctantly dragged back to her bed.

Thorin continued to feel hot and feverish for the rest of the day. Arion went down to the river and collected some willow bark for his mother who made it into a hot drink for Thorin, mixed with honey. He slept for a little after this and felt a bit better. But then he woke up and began to fidget with boredom. Tauriel found herself running backwards and forwards fetching him food (which he didn’t touch), then more drinks, then another pillow. Then he called her and just wanted her to sit by his bed and talk but Rose and Arion also needed her and, when she left after only five minutes, he felt very hard done by. So, then he tried to go to sleep again but he only tossed and turned in a hot, semi-doze and called out to her again when he had another bad dream.

“I thought you had packed your bags and left me,” he said to her, looking very pathetic.

“Well, that’s just what I will do, Thorin, if you carry on like this,” she said a bit sharply.

And then he looked so hurt that she gave him a kiss and, although she was feeling exhausted, she made him another willow and honey drink and sat by his bed holding his hand until he nodded off to sleep again.

When it was late evening, Tauriel came into the bedroom and removed some bedding from the cupboard. “What are you doing?” asked Thorin.

“I’m making up beds on the floor of the hall, in front of the fire, for me and Arion,” she said.

He could understand why Arion needed to sleep apart from him and Rose, “But I don’t see why you can’t still sleep with me,” he said grumpily.

Tauriel came over and lifted up his bed sheet. “Have you seen yourself, Thorin?” she said.

And he pulled up his nightshirt and peered down at himself. Much to his horror, every square inch of his body seemed covered in spots.

“As the fever lessens, so your spots will get itchier,” she said, “and I really don’t think you’ll want to share a bed with me.”

But Thorin continued to look sullen. “You know I don’t like sleeping on my own,” he said. “I can put up with a bit of itching.”

So Tauriel sighed and made up a bed just for Arion who was quite excited about sleeping with Dog in front of the fire.

Meanwhile, Rose had been as quiet as a mouse. She was very bored too but she heard Thorin’s constant calling and guessed that Tauriel must be feeling very tired. She hoped that she would make a speedy recovery from what seemed like a mild attack so that she could help the elf. And THEN she would read him the riot act. He was being really selfish.

Tauriel finally finished all her chores and came to bed. “What on earth have you been doing?” Thorin grumbled. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you. I can’t possibly get off to sleep until you’ve come to bed.”

Tauriel bit her tongue and got in beside him. She tried not to touch him but Thorin edged across to her and said in a little boy voice, “I need a cuddle, Tauriel.”

And so, she took him tentatively in her arms and tried not to warm him too much with her body. But, having slept for much of the day, Thorin wasn’t feeling in the least bit tired and felt in need of some distraction. He nuzzled her neck and whispered, “Take your nightgown off, Tauriel. A cuddle feels so much better that way.”

His wife sighed. “Honestly, Thorin,” she said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Shall I go and get you some camomile tea? That will make you sleepy.” But he didn’t want a hot drink and he didn’t want to go to sleep.

“I need to be awake, my love,” he said huskily, “for what I have in mind.”

Tauriel decided that he would have to learn the hard way and so took off her nightgown and climbed back into bed with him. With a satisfied grin, he pulled her to him and began to kiss her passionately. But, after only five minutes, he pushed off the bed covers. “I’m hot,” he complained. Although she tried to edge away from him, he wasn’t having it and pulled her back against his body.

It won’t be long now, thought Tauriel. And, within another five minutes, he had begun to scratch. When the scratching just increased, she finally got out of bed and, with a look of determination, she said: “That’s it, Thorin. You’re just being silly. I shall sleep in the other room.” And she ignored his sullen looks, made up a bed for herself and returned with a lotion which she rubbed on his spots. “That should help,” she said. “And now I don’t want to hear from you until tomorrow morning.” And she stalked out of the room.

And so Thorin lay there and lay there, counting off the minutes. In the end, he fell into a hot and disturbed and itchy sleep. The nightmares came back as bad as ever and somehow it was all Tauriel’s fault.

.o00o. 

Pt II

The next day followed the same pattern. The only difference was, Thorin got grumpier and Tauriel got more tired. Arion was doing his best to help his mother and Rose was doing her best by bothering Tauriel as little as possible.

That night, Thorin insisted that Tauriel sleep with him again. He smothered himself with the soothing lotion and then drawing her into his rather slippery arms, tried to make love to her. This did not meet with success and he became very upset. “But you’re ILL, Thorin,” sighed Tauriel. “I don’t know what you expected.”

But Thorin expected to be normal and, when he wasn’t, then his temper began to rise.

“I suppose you’re repulsed by me, covered in all these spots,” he snapped, as he rolled away from her. “I don’t know how I can hope to do anything in bed when I just know that you’re revolted. If you tried harder, then perhaps, I would get somewhere.”

“So, it’s my fault,” she said curtly.

“Yes,” he said, and turned his back on her.

Tiredly, Tauriel got out of bed and plodded off to the other room. The next morning, she overslept and was only woken by Thorin yelling for attention. She dragged herself into the bedroom and confronted him.

Thorin had had a very restless night. He knew he was behaving badly but refused to admit it. Instead, he had tossed and turned, blaming his wife for all his woes. Then finally he had a whole string of nightmares in which a giant spot on his nose spread over his entire body whilst a beautiful Lostwithiel stood at the foot of his bed laughing and suggesting that perhaps his wife would rather seek out his bed instead. When the elf lord walked off hand in hand with Tauriel into the sunset whilst Thorin cried for her to come back, he finally woke up even more convinced that Tauriel wasn’t looking after him well enough.

“Yes?” said Tauriel.

“I’m hungry and thirsty,” Thorin glowered, “and I want my breakfast.”

“Well,” she said, “I think I’ll just have my own breakfast first and then I’ll think about you,” and she turned on her heel and swept off to the kitchen.

“Just you come back this minute!” he yelled after her. “I’m ill and you’re supposed to be looking after me!”

And suddenly, Rose was standing on the threshold with her arms crossed and looking absolutely furious.

“And ‘oo do you think you’re shoutin’ at, Thorin?” she snapped. “That’s your wife, Tauriel, and she’s run ‘erself ragged whilst you’ve be’aved like the biggest baby ever!”

He was about to shout back at her when she raised an admonitory finger. “Now, just you stop it, Thorin, and just you ‘ave a think about your be’aviour.” And he did have a think and looked up at her guiltily through long, dark lashes.

“We’ve got to get through the next eight or nine days all in one piece and wivvout killin’ Tauriel and we need to ‘ave a talk about it,” she said. And Thorin nodded.

And so, when Tauriel came back into the room later, she found Thorin looking repentant and Rose sitting next to him on the bed.

“Sorry, Tauriel,” he said.

When any of them said sorry, Tauriel usually gave them a kiss and a hug and forgave them. But, this time, she just stood there looking worn out.

“You see,” said Rose, giving Thorin a poke, “she’s at the end of ‘er tether. So what’re we goin’ to do to ‘elp ‘er?”

“I don’t know,” said Thorin.

“Well,” said Rose, “our biggest problem is, we’re both so bored. So, what shall we do?”

“I don’t know,” said Thorin.

“Fat lot of use you are,” said Rose scornfully.

“Well, I’m ill,” said the dwarf petulantly, “and I can’t think.”

Rose sighed and turned to Tauriel. “It’s very lonely being shut up in our rooms on our own, so why don’t we move my bed into here during the day and we can keep each other company?”

It was such an excellent idea that they set about moving Rose’s bed straight away. Thorin insisted on getting up and helping, but, by the time the bed had been moved, he was pale and trembling and had to be helped back into his own.

“You see,” said Tauriel sternly, “this disease is more debilitating than you think.”

“Yes,” agreed Thorin, looking sorry for himself. “I’m very ill, aren’t I?”

And he looked so pathetic that Tauriel laughed and gave him a kiss and said, “Yes, you’re very ill, my love. I shall now go and get you both a nice cup of camomile tea.”

Rose had positioned her bed so that she was looking directly at Thorin, “so that I can keep my eye on ‘im,” she said.

He glowered at her. “I’m not quite sure why I thought this was such a good idea,” he said. 

Tauriel brought them both their cup of tea and, for the rest of the day, found life a lot easier with the two of them in the same room and with Rose there ready to curb Thorin’s demands.

For a while, they both stared at each other in a grumpy silence. “So, what shall we talk about?” said Thorin finally.

“I don’t know,” said Rose.

Tauriel came in at that moment. “What about you telling each other stories?” she suggested. “Everyone likes a story, particularly if they’re stuck in bed.”

So, first of all they told each other stories of Middle-earth. 

“I’ll start,” said Rose. “Do you know the one about Beren and Luthien?”

“No,” said Thorin.

“You don’t?” said Rose in surprise. “It’s the most important of all the elven stories. I’m surprised that Tauriel never told you that one.”

“Well,” grunted Thorin, “we had more interesting things to do with our time than tell each other stories.”

“But this one’s all about how a mortal man married an immortal elf. It’s sort of connected to your own situation.” And Thorin suddenly sat up and paid attention.

“So how do you know this story about elves, then?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve moved around a lot and mixed with all sorts,” she said. “There was this young girl we travelled with once and she knew ‘undreds of stories about love. She used to tell them around the camp fire at night and I always remembered this one.”

And then she told him how the beautiful elf, Luthien, the Morning Star of her people, fell in love with Beren, a mortal man. It was a long and complicated story, full of angry fathers and magic stones and vampires and werewolves. But the love of Luthien for Beren and the sacrifices she made and the dangers she went through in order to save her beloved from the dungeons of Sauron and her choice of a mortal life so that she would die with him held Thorin enrapt all morning.

It was very sad and, as she finished, he fell back exhausted on his pillow. He had not wanted the food that Tauriel had brought them for lunch but he closed his eyes now and said to Rose: “Thank you. That was a lovely story. I think I’ll go to sleep for a bit now.”

And then Rose realised how tired she was feeling too and she shut her eyes and fell asleep as well. Tauriel poked her head around the door a little later and smiled to see them both gently snoring together.

.o00o.

 

Pt III 

 

The next day, Rose demanded that Thorin tell her a story about love too.

“I don’t know any,” he said. “I only know dwarven stories and they’re all about battles and war.”

“Well, what about a true love story,” suggested Rose, her eyes alight. “Why don’t you tell me how you met Tauriel and fell in love with her?”

Thorin had already told the children bits about his adventures with Bilbo – the child friendly stuff, like how they had been almost eaten by trolls or killed by giant spiders or had escaped from their prison in Mirkwood by floating downriver in barrels. But he hadn’t told them anything about the “personal” element.

“Where did you first meet Tauriel?” persisted Rose. “Was it when you were captured in Mirkwood?”

“No,” he said. “I actually met her some time before that, in this very forge.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “You met ‘er in this forge? But ‘ow did that ‘appen?”

“Well,” continued Thorin, “she was on a mission to the Grey Havens from Thranduil and her horse cast a shoe.” He smiled to himself as he remembered. 

“And the minute you laid eyes on ‘er, she was so beautiful that you fell in love with ‘er,” exclaimed Rose excitedly. “And the minute she laid eyes on you, she fell in love with you because you were so ‘andsome.”

“Not exactly,” said Thorin dryly. “We disliked each other on sight.” And when he saw Rose’s jaw drop he said: “You’re forgetting the bad feelings that exist between dwarves and elves. But,” he continued, “she was forced to stay the night – she stole my bed – and we did have an enjoyable meal together.”

“And THEN you fell in love,” said Rose, determined to have her happy ending and to have it quickly.

“Nope,” said Thorin. “I did find her very beautiful but she accused me of stealing a golden dagger and she chained me up in the forge and left me. If I could have got my hands on her........” And he grinned as he thought about the mixed feelings he had had for his wife at the time.

“She chained you up!” exclaimed Rose in disbelief and she wondered where the Tauriel/Thorin romance was going.

“And, as you know, she eventually captured me in Mirkwood and locked me up in Thranduil’s dungeons. She wasn’t very nice to me there either,” he grumbled.

“So, ‘ow on earth did you eventually fall in love?”

“Well, I think our interest in each other was growing and she WAS very beautiful, of course.” And he paused to remember some particular moments.

“And....?” Rose prodded.

“And she followed me down to Lake Town and then...errr....we made our feelings known to each other.”

Rose gave him an old-fashioned look. She wasn’t stupid. “So, then you exchanged rings?”

“No, I went off to confront the dragon.” And Thorin looked a bit uncomfortable.

“And then the dragon was killed and you were made King under the Mountain and she came to the dwarven halls and THEN you exchanged rings.” Rose was really getting excited.

“Err...no,” Thorin muttered. “I gave up my kingship and sent her back to Mirkwood before coming back to the forge.”

“You did WHAT!?” Rose exclaimed in disbelief. Her eyes rolled. “Typical!” she snorted. “So, ‘ow on earth DID you get together?”

“Umm..well...she came after me and we...err...we made up.” He was looking quite guilty.

“And THEN did you exchange rings?” She didn’t sound too hopeful.

“Yes,” he grinned. And Rose cheered.

“But why,” she asked curiously, “if you then came back to the forge, was Arion born at Rivendell?”

“It’s a long story,” said Thorin. He looked very ashamed of himself and started playing with the sheet. “I don’t come out of it very well and I’d rather not talk about it.” He was feeling weak and a bit feverish and couldn’t stop a tear from sliding down his cheek. Rose saw how upset he was and so changed the subject.

“Well,” she said in a jolly voice, “I’m feeling pretty tired and sleepy after all that.”

“Me, too,” said Thorin, surreptitiously wiping away the tear with the back of his hand. And so they ate a bit of food that Tauriel had brought in for them and followed it up with a nap.

.o00o. 

The next day, it was Rose’s turn. “Tell me a story to make me laugh,” said Thorin. “I feel like a laugh.”

Rose thought for a bit. “Well, I could tell you about the time that me dad took me thievin’ when I was about five.”

“And you think that will make me laugh?” said Thorin, unconvinced.

“It makes me laugh when I remember it,” said Rose.

And so Thorin settled back to listen to her tale.

“I was only a little kid,” she said. “Really skinny, too.”

“Yes, you were still pretty scrawny even three years later when I brought you home to the forge.”

“Well, me dad liked me that way because it was really useful when he broke into houses. ‘E kept me ‘alf-starved but he didn’t know that I was always eatin’ be’ind ‘is back. I used to steal food from stalls in the market, y’know.” And she looked very pleased with herself.

But Thorin was beginning to feel a bit upset. “I thought this was supposed to be funny,” he said.

“’Ang on a bit,” she said. “It will be.” But, as she remembered how hungry she had been in those days, she reached for the plate that Tauriel had left by her side and comforted herself with a mouthful of bread and butter.

“So, me dad ‘ad an eye on this big ‘ouse and ‘ad noticed that there was a small rear window that the owner always left open. He knew that I was small enough to wriggle through and so, one night, in the early hours, we both crept into the back garden and me dad lifted me up to the window. I was ‘alf-way through when I got stuck. Me dad ‘adn’t realised just ‘ow much stolen cake I’d bin eatin’ for weeks.” And she started giggling to herself.

“So, there was me dad, pushin’and pushin’ when, suddenly, a big guard dog sniffed us out and came runnin’ and barkin’ at ‘im and grabbed ‘old of ‘is trouser leg. So then me dad started to pull instead of push but I didn’t budge. I could see the staircase from where I was stuck and suddenly the owner comes running down the stairs in ‘is nightshirt wavin’ a rusty old sword around. And ‘e sees me pokin’ through the window and drops ’is sword and starts pullin’ and me dad’s pullin’ from the other side and the dog is growlin’and tearing at ‘is trousers and then, suddenly, through the window I pop on top of the owner of the house. I’ve knocked ‘im out but, by this time, me dad’s run away wiv the dog snappin’ at ‘is ‘eels. And I manage to unlock the big front door and go runnin’ after ‘im.”

And Rose threw herself back on her pillow and roared with laughter. But Thorin wasn’t laughing.

“So, what happened when you got home?” he asked.

“Oh,” she shrugged, “’e gave me a beltin’ for not grabbin’ a few valuables before I left the house.”

Thorin got out of bed and came over to Rose and put his arms around her. Rose buried her face in his comforting shoulder and cried as she remembered her life before she came to the forge. Thorin felt the tears run down his face too. Rose looked up and brushed her tears away. “I’ve messed up your shirt,” she said, patting the wet patch ineffectually. “Now, just you get back in bed, Thorin Oakenshield, before Tauriel comes in and you get into trouble.” And she gave a big sniff.

Thorin gave her one more hug and then got back under his blankets. And, when Tauriel came in ten minutes later, they were both fast asleep.

.o00o. 

Pt IV 

After a pretty itchy night, Thorin woke up the next morning to find many of his spots weeping and others crusting over. When Rose came in, hers were beginning to scab too. “Don’t you dare!” she said to the dwarf when she saw his hand reach up to scratch his face. “If you knock those scabs off, you’ll get scars and you won’t look so ‘andsome any more. You wouldn’t want to put Tauriel off, would you?”

Her words reminded him so much of the dream when Tauriel had gone off with Lostwithiel that he immediately brought his hand down from his face and trapped it under the sheet.

“There’s a good boy,” grinned Rose.

Tauriel came in with a bigger breakfast than usual on trays for them and they found that their appetites were returning. They cleaned their plates and Tauriel looked pleased when she returned. “You’re both picking up a bit, I see,” she smiled.

Then they both settled back on their pillows for the next round of story-telling.

“I’ve told you a bit about my dad,” said Rose. “Now tell me a bit about yours. Thrain, wasn’t it?”

“Well,” said Thorin, “he only had one eye, for a start.”

“Cor!” said Rose. This seemed to her to be an exciting and exotic feature. “’Ow did that ‘appen?”

“He lost it during the dwarf and goblin wars, at the Battle of Azanulbizar.” He paused for a moment. “My brother, Frerin, died in that battle too.”

“Tell me about your brother,” she said.

“He was very good-looking and, unlike me, blond-haired. I thought the world of him until we had a bit of a spat over the same dwarf woman, Kagris.” He sighed. “I really regret that now. We went into battle with this hanging over us – and then he was killed. I find it difficult to forgive myself sometimes. She really wasn’t worth it.”

Rose made soothing noises. “I bet your dad thought you were the bees’ knees,” she said in an effort to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

“I’m afraid, Rose,” he said with a wry smile, “that if you’re trying to cheer me up by leading my memories down more pleasant paths, then you’re not succeeding. Frerin was my father’s favourite son; and, after Frerin, he loved Dis. I was bottom of the pack when he was dishing out his affection.”

Rose blinked. It seemed impossible to her that anyone would not love Thorin. “Why do you think that was, then?” she asked.

“Well, I think I reminded him of my mother. She died when we were all young and my father missed her terribly. Every time he looked at me, I think it caused him pain.” He shrugged. “I realised pretty early on that I was my father’s least favourite child and I learned to accept it.”

“And I thought,” said Rose, “that I was the only one ‘oo had a father who didn’t like me.”

Thorin sent her a sad smile: “It happens in all families, rich or poor, high or low. There’s nothing you can do about it so you just have to live with it. At least I had Dis and she loved me. You had no-one.”

“Now, don’t you go and make me feel sorry for meself or you’ll start me blubbing again,” she said. “Isn’t there anything good you can remember about you and your dad?”

“Well, he taught me to use an axe and a sword and he did a pretty good job. Things also got a bit better after Frerin was killed because I was then the only son he had. He couldn’t be picky any more.” Thorin sighed again. “But I sometimes felt that he wished it had been me and not Frerin who had died that day.”

They sat in silence for a while, thinking about their fathers. Then Rose looked up and said: “Well, you’ve certainly made up for things, Thorin. You’re the best dad ever.” And then she looked a bit embarrassed and cleared her throat and began talking about Arion.

Thorin smiled to himself. How lucky they all were that Rose had come into their lives.

.o00o. 

The next day was cold but very sunny. “I think,” said Tauriel, “that if you wrap up really, really warmly, then you could sit outside for an hour in the sun.”

They were both very excited at the suggestion and Tauriel laughed at the child-like pleasure that Thorin was taking in such a simple act. Rose dashed off to her bedroom to get dressed whilst Tauriel helped Thorin. He pulled on his breeches and Tauriel knelt and put on his boots for him. He was just picking up his shirt when Rose came dancing in.

“Oops, sorry!” she laughed.

“No problem,” he smiled and pulled on his shirt.

When Tauriel had equipped them with their thickest coats, they made their way outside, being careful to steer clear of Arion who waved and grinned at them from the far side of the dining table. They sat on a bench with their backs to the wall and their faces lifted to the sun. “Aaahh,” they both sighed as one.

They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying their freedom. Rose linked her arm through Thorin’s and leaned her head upon his shoulder.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. And Thorin nodded.

“Well, if your father didn’t like you very much, then why haven’t you got any marks on your back?”

The moment has come at last, thought Thorin. And he wondered if he could handle it. He thought back to the day when he had first brought Rose home. She was a thief and he had meant to hand her over to the elven guard in the Grey Havens but he and Tauriel had kept her instead.

The day after her arrival, he had come in from the forge to find Tauriel bathing her in front of the fire. She was sitting in the tub with her back towards him, bending over and playing with a sponge. He had stopped in his tracks because her back was a mass of scars. He was about to blurt out something when Tauriel had shot him a meaningful look and he had shut his mouth, picked up what he had come for and had then made his exit.

That same night in bed, Tauriel lay in his arms and said: “She has been miserably maltreated, Thorin. But, don’t say anything. She’ll talk to us about it when the time comes. I think we need to be careful what we say and it’s really important that we don’t show any disgust.”

That had been a year ago – and now the time had come.

“Well, Rose,” he said gently, “my father didn’t believe it was right to beat children. He would give me a clout with his hand sometimes, if I was being really annoying, but he never beat me.”

“And did Tauriel’s father ever beat her?”

“No,” he said quietly.

“And you don’t beat Arion either, do you?” she said, as if this were a sudden revelation. “And you don’t even beat me, even though I must really make you mad sometimes.”

“I would never beat Arion and, I promise, I will never beat you.” He said this firmly and she knew he was telling her the truth.

She sat there silently digesting this information for a while. Then she said: “I’ve tried to look at my back, but it’s a bit difficult to see what’s going on behind you. Do the marks look ugly?”

Thorin hesitated and didn’t know what to say. In the end, the words came: “Those scars are part of you now, Rose. The only ugly thing about them is the man who put them there.”

She was silent for a bit longer. “I thought that everyone was beaten by their dad. And because I thought that everyone was beaten, it made it easier to bear.”

Thorin could understand that. It was the smallest of mercies.

She looked up at him and her eyes were full of tears. “But now I know it’s not so, I feel really upset. And a tear spilled over and ran down her cheek.”

He lifted her onto his lap and held her tightly. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right.” 

They sat there quietly in the sun for some time and then he carried her inside to her bedroom and helped her into her nightgown. “Don’t look,” she whispered. “Don’t look.”

“And why shouldn’t I look at my beautiful daughter?” he said, kissing her gently on the cheek. Then he tucked her into bed and she fell asleep.

He went back to his own room and Tauriel was waiting for him. “What’s happened?” she asked as she helped him into bed. “You’re looking very upset.”

“I am upset,” he said and she lay down on the bed with him. Then he told her about the conversation he had had with Rose.

Tauriel kissed him and murmured: “You said all the right things, my love.”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “But that doesn’t stop the pain I’m feeling at the moment.”

He suddenly realised how exhausted he was feeling and, as Tauriel covered him in gentle kisses, he soon fell asleep in her arms.

.o00o. 

 

“Woo-hooo!” shouted Rose as she burst into Thorin’s bedroom. “Day ten!”

“All right,” said Tauriel as she stuck her head around the door, “You can come and have breakfast with Arion. Welcome back to the land of the living!” And everyone cheered.

Arion studied his father and his sister as they sat up to the table. Most of the scabs had dropped off, leaving pale pink scars. “They’ll soon fade,” said Tauriel.

“That’s good,” laughed Rose. “Thorin was worried that you wouldn’t fancy him any more.” And she sat there giggling.

That night, Tauriel finally agreed to let Arion and Rose share a bedroom again and then she promised Thorin that she would return to the marital bed. Thorin let out a long sigh as she climbed in beside him. He nuzzled her neck and murmured, “Well, do you still fancy me, even with all my pink scars?”

“Hmmm, that’s a difficult question,” she said. “I think a bit of kissing might help me make up my mind.”

And so he kissed her throat and worked his way up to her ear and then across to her lips. “Have you decided yet?” he whispered huskily.

“Well, what do you think, you stupid dwarf?” she said. And then she folded him tightly in her arms.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Raid, in which Thorin puts into action all the suggestions he made in the Grey Havens for protecting isolated properties against invading parties of orcs. Lostwithiel helps him and the two get drunk together. Will the elf lord let slip what happened between him and Tauriel up at the outpost and what will be Thorin’s reaction? Civilised and forgiving? Nope, I think not, LOL!


	8. Thorin and the Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has recovered from his spotty illness and now he feels he must set about fortifying his home against possible orc attacks. Lostwithiel has offered to help. Will their cooperation be successful or will something be revealed that should have remained hidden? And will the fortification be effective?

Thorin and the Raid  
Pt I

Thorin stood on the roof of his hall, tossing off some of the thatch with a pitchfork. As part of the plan to fortify and improve the defences of farmhouses and cottages in the area against orc attacks, he had started to replace the dangerous and flammable thatch with stone tiles. It was a slow and time consuming business but he had made good progress and, when it was finished, he would no longer have to worry that a flaming arrow would burn down his home.

There were extensive views from his position and he could see up and down the four ways that met at his forge on the crossroads. In the distance, trundling along from the Grey Havens, he could see a large wagon and guessed it was Lostwithiel. He threw aside his pitchfork and, climbing down a ladder, stood waiting for the elf lord to arrive. 

When the wagon finally entered the yard, Thorin greeted Lostwithiel cheerfully. The elf leaped to the ground and clasped Thorin by the arm. They were elf and dwarf and yet they had fought side by side against the orcs and felt a special bond. Moreover, Lostwithiel was his wife’s right hand man up at the nearby outpost where a troop of elves was stationed whose job it was to keep an eye on any movements in the mountains and the surrounding countryside.

Thorin clapped the elf lord’s shoulder and wondered at the change that had come over him in the past year. When he had first met him in the Grey Havens where Lostwithiel was a visiting member of Thranduil’s court, he had been slim and pale and elegant with wafting movements that seemed to make him float around the room; he had had a languid manner and a languid voice. Now his hair was bleached and his skin bronzed by the sun. He strode rather than drifted and, after all the hours of physical and military exercise, he had built up a fine physique. He was now someone you would be glad to have on your side, thought Thorin.

“Where’s Tauriel?” the elf asked, looking around.

“Dropping off the children with Dis for a week,” Thorin replied. “It’s somewhere safe so that we can work on the house without them getting in the way.”

Lostwithiel looked disappointed. “Don’t worry,” grinned Thorin, knowing the elf’s attachment to his captain, “she’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll be staying tonight, won’t you, so you’ll see her then.”

Together they unloaded the wagon which contained useful items intended to help isolated properties withstand an orc attack. There were wooden shutters with arrow slits built into them, great bundles of arrows, a stack of spears with long handles, a shipment of stone tiles and supplies of foodstuffs that stored well. “And last but not least.......the fireworks!” exclaimed Lostwithiel. With a flourish, he produced a bundle of Gandalf’s fireworks. They were large and splendid-looking and were intended to be used as warning signals should the forge be attacked. “And keep those naughty children well away from them,” said the elf.

They spent the evening putting up the shutters and then sat down to a meal and a cup of wine. Thorin drank carefully these days. Too much wine had got him into a number of tricky situations in the past. But Lostwithiel enjoyed the local product and drank for both of them. They talked about his life up at the outpost and how much it had changed him – “For the better, I hope,” he grinned – and how Tauriel ran a pretty tight ship and how he tried to imitate her when he was left in charge.

“The men think the world of her,” said the elf, “and all I want is to have half as much respect from them as they give to her.” Tauriel only spent one day a week up at the tumbledown farmhouse these days, but she really kept them on their toes.

Thorin nodded. He knew what a wonderful job his wife had done and was very proud of her. “I don’t know how she manages to look after you lot and the children and me and still keep her temper,” he laughed. And then he added in a quiet voice: “I don’t deserve her.”

There was a lengthy pause while Lostwithiel sipped another mouthful of wine. He carefully considered Thorin’s words with the laboured concentration of a man who’d had one too many. Like many people teetering on the edge of inebriation, he suddenly felt the need to confess. “You know, Thorin, I didn’t think you deserved her either when you both turned up that night at Thranduil’s feast three years ago.”

Thorin grinned. “Well, I can imagine that most elves would think that a dwarf was an odd choice for a beautiful elf maiden. I felt pretty uncomfortable that night. I remember that you were the only elf lord there who was pleasant to me.”

Lostwithiel looked down into his cup. “I’m sorry, Thorin, but I was being pleasant for my own purposes – and I regret it and would like to apologise.”

Thorin laid a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. “Confession time, Lostwithiel? Too much wine, I think. Time to go to bed.”

“No, no,” protested Lostwithiel, looking the dwarf earnestly and slightly drunkenly in the eye. “I want to say it. Your betrothal upset me and I told you a load of half-truths about Tauriel and Thranduil. I wanted to cause damage. And I did, because you broke the betrothal. I feel very, very badly about that.”

Thorin sighed. “Don’t you think I finally worked that one out? The only person who damaged our relationship that night was me. Now, come on. Bed.”

But Lostwithiel was on a roll. “There’s just one more thing I’ve got to tell you, something I’m really, really sorry for.”

“All right,” said Thorin resignedly, “one more thing. And then, bed.”

“It happened during those first two weeks of training – when you came up to the farmhouse with that bundle of swords. The men found out for the first time that you were her husband and they were pretty shocked.”

“And you want to apologise for telling them,” said Thorin.

“Yes. No. Yes – but there’s more.” Lostwithiel ploughed on. “It’s difficult to describe how we felt about the two of you.”

“Try,” said Thorin, suddenly sitting very still.

“Well,” the elf cleared his throat. “It was a mixture of disgust and – er – excitement.” Thorin’s eyes turned icy and suddenly Lostwithiel began to wish he had never started.

“Explain ‘excitement’,” said Thorin in glacial tones.

“Well, you know – you and Tauriel – it seemed a very – exotic relationship – and somehow – unworthy – of an elf. And, when I thought about it, it made me feel – sort of – you know –”

“No, I don’t know,” said Thorin flatly. 

“Well, umm.....” Lostwithiel wished he had gone to bed when he had had the chance.

“And did you do anything about this – feeling of ‘excitement’?” asked Thorin calmly and Lostwithiel somehow seemed pinned to his seat by every syllable.

“Yes,” whispered Lostwithiel.

“Tell me,” said an implacable Thorin.

Lostwithiel hunched over the table and muttered something inaudible.

“I can’t hear you,” said Thorin softly.

“I waited until everyone was asleep and then I went to her room and – and got into bed with her.”

Thorin was over the table so fast that he caught the elf completely by surprise. He had him by the throat and pinned up against the wall in a fraction of a second.

“You did WHAT?!” he roared and, for a moment, Lostwithiel thought Thorin was going to snap his neck. The elf lord had the advantage of height but Thorin had the superior strength and was driven by rage.

“N-nothing happened,” he managed to gasp.

“Were you clothed?”

“N-no. N-naked.” Thorin’s hand tightened in a spasm on his throat.

“And did you touch her?”

“Y-yes. And – and I bit her lip.” Lostwithiel was too terrified not to tell the truth.

With another roar, Thorin threw him across the room. The elf sprawled in the corner and put up his hands defensively. “She kicked me out of bed! She broke my nose!” he cried.

“I’ll break every bone in your body!” the dwarf thundered and lunged towards him. Lostwithiel suddenly felt amazingly sober. He realised that this was a serious fight and, rolling to one side, managed to spring to his feet.

It was as vicious as a pub brawl. Furniture was used, thrown and smashed. No holds were barred. Thorin was doing his best to kill Lostwithiel and Lostwithiel was doing his best to preserve his life by whatever method came to hand. In many ways, they were pretty equally matched and they had just got to the point where they were rolling around on the floor with Thorin trying to choke the elf to death and Lostwithiel trying to gouge out the dwarf’s eyes when the door was flung open and a commanding voice yelled: “Stop this! At once!”

The two of them froze and, glancing up from their prone position, saw a furious Tauriel standing on the threshold with Dog panting at her knee.

“Get up!” she said in disgusted tones. They both struggled to their feet, looking suitably uncomfortable, and gazed shiftily at the floor. The table had been turned over, several chairs were completely smashed and various items of crockery were lying in pieces around the room. The wine jug had splattered its contents everywhere.

“So?” asked Tauriel.

Thorin compressed his lips and looked away. Lostwithiel cleared his throat and looked embarrassed.

Tauriel figured out the situation immediately. She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t tell him, Lostwithiel, did you, you idiot?” He nodded miserably. “What on earth possessed you to do that?” she snapped. “I thought we agreed it was our secret. You might have expected this!” And she gestured helplessly around the destroyed room.

“Your SECRET!” blazed Thorin. “How dare you keep a secret like that from me?!”

Tauriel looked at him coldly and said in a cutting tone he had never heard her use to him before: “And how dare you speak to me like that?” Thorin bit his tongue and looked away again. The elf shuffled his feet and seemed mortified.

“Now, clear up this room,” she said. And for the next hour they cleared up the room in silence. When they had finished, Tauriel sent Lostwithiel off to the guest rooms. “And clean yourself up too! There’s a pump in the forge,” she said.

Thorin stood sullenly by the fireplace. “I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow,” he said.

“There’s a full moon tonight – plenty of light. I thought I’d travel home early and give you a nice surprise,” she said grimly. She made him sit down and got a bowl of water. “This is the second time in as many months I’ve had to do this,” she said, dabbing viciously. “I can’t tell you how angry I feel at the moment, Thorin.”

“And I can’t tell you how angry I’m feeling too,” muttered Thorin.

.o00o. 

Pt II

Thorin and Tauriel lay side by side in bed, not touching. She had been looking forward to surprising Thorin with her unexpected arrival. The children were staying with Dis for a whole week and she had kept herself entertained on the long ride home with thoughts of herself and her husband enjoying their time ALONE together. And now he and Lostwithiel had totally spoiled things between them. 

She couldn’t believe that the elf lord had thought it appropriate to confess his sins to Thorin; nor could she believe the dwarf’s overreaction to what, after all, had only been a bit of foolishness. But, perhaps she could. Thorin’s passions were extreme and it was impossible to know sometimes which way he would jump. And he had certainly jumped all over Lostwithiel. If she weren’t so angry, she could almost laugh.

Thorin wasn’t laughing. He hadn’t felt so angry in a long time and his emotions were proving almost impossible for him to contain. He kept on re-playing in his mind the image of the handsome elf sneaking into his wife’s bedroom, then STRIPPING OFF and getting under the coverlets with her. He could see his TALL, elegant, well-honed body pressing up against hers, his long, beautiful fingers touching her, his cupid’s bow mouth moulding themselves to her mouth and his sharp, white teeth biting her lip. 

He wondered if Tauriel had enjoyed it. He wondered if she had responded. How could any normal woman not feel some attraction for the good-looking elf lord? Had she really broken his nose or had it been broken by the orcs when they found them having fun in bed together? Deep down, Thorin knew that his thoughts were running amok along the wrong track once more - that this was a bit of over-indulgent self-torture - but he still wanted to leap from his bed and finish the job he had started on Lostwithiel.

And he was so angry with Tauriel. She was his wife and yet she had kept this from him, had made it a dirty, little secret between her and Lostwithiel. He had been shut out and he wanted to know why. He wondered if they laughed about it behind his back. And, for the one hundredth time that night, he wondered why she had married him, what it was that he and his forge had to offer her, when so many others had sought out her hand – her hand AND her other bits.

Neither of them slept. When dawn came, Tauriel was the first out of bed. “Where are you going?” asked Thorin as she swept out of the room.

“To tell Lostwithiel that I’m about to make breakfast,” she said, heading for the front door.

Thorin leapt up and yelled after her: “You just make sure he’s got some clothes on before you go in there!”

But Tauriel just knocked on the door of the guest suite and called to the elf to get up before returning to the house where Thorin was struggling to get dressed. “Well?” he said.

“Stark naked,” she said and disappeared off into the kitchen, leaving her husband to wonder whether she was joking or not.

Breakfast was a difficult meal. Nobody spoke but the elf and the dwarf eyed each other sideways trying to estimate the amount of damage they had done to each other’s face. “I’d say it’s a draw,” commented Tauriel seeing their glances.

“Thank you for the food,” said Lostwithiel stiffly. “I’ll be off, then.”

“No, you won’t,” snapped Tauriel. “You’re supposed to stay today to help Thorin with the roof.” They both opened their mouths to protest but, seeing her look, shut them again, sighed and went outside to fetch the stone tiles and the ladders.

It was quite difficult working together on the roof without talking to each other but, somehow, they managed. It was a hot day and, in the end, they both had to strip to the waist, where the damage from the previous day’s fight became obvious. And Thorin couldn’t help but examine the details of the elf’s fit body and entering that information into the scenario that still kept on replaying in his head. He would have been happier if Lostwithiel had been skinny or overweight.

By late afternoon, the roof was nearly finished and both had had enough. Lostwithiel came down first, apologising to Tauriel that he had to return the wagon to the Grey Havens before going up to the outpost. She helped him with the horse and then he got ready to mount onto the seat. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused,” he said. “I only wanted to apologise to Thorin because I felt so badly about you-know-what.”

She sighed. “He’ll get over it. Give him some time.”

“Do you forgive me for yesterday, then?” he asked.

“Oh, get on with you,” she grinned and she patted his hand and rose on her toes to peck him on the cheek. Thorin was just coming down from the roof at that moment and he could quite willingly have impaled him on his pitchfork. He glowered as his wife waved Lostwithiel goodbye.

They went into the house together and Tauriel pointed to the table. “Sit down,” she said, “and let’s talk about it.”

Thorin sat down sullenly and said, “Hasn’t it all been said?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Tauriel. “You start.”

He was silent for some time and then said: “I feel I have the right to kill or, at the very least, seriously injure, any person who has forced himself upon my wife.” Having stated the obvious, Thorin sat back, folded his arms and looked righteous.

“And what if the wife has talked it through with that person and has accepted his apology? Doesn’t that count?”

“No,” growled Thorin, “because you’re my wife and any assault on you is an assault on me. And if I want revenge then I shall have it.”

“And so, my opinion counts for less than your dignity,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Could that possibly be because you think of me as your possession and, therefore, have fewer rights?”

Thorin could see himself being cornered. “Well, you are my wife,” he said at last.

“Yes, and you’re my husband,” she retorted, “but you certainly don’t act like you are sometimes.”

“But shouldn’t a husband be angry over this?” he asked, beginning to look confused. She always wanted to kiss him when that confused look appeared on his face, but she held off for the moment.

“Not if the wife feels she has resolved the issue and is happy with the outcome.” He still looked stubborn so she continued: “Look, when we got married, so many elves and dwarves and men found that they couldn’t come to terms with it. Lostwithiel felt very muddled and that’s why he did what he did. He apologised; it’s over. I think he now loves us both more than any other of his friends and that’s why he got this urge to apologise to you. He couldn’t bear for there to be secrets between us.” She let out a breath. “I’m glad you know about it. Now I just want you to get over it.”

Thorin stared at the floor for some time. In the end, he raised his eyes to her and gave her that special little-boy-lost look up through his long, dark lashes that he always affected when he wanted his way. “Well,” he said in a husky voice, “perhaps a kiss would help me get over it.” She laughed and, bending forward, seized him by his plaits and kissed him. He stood up and, lifting her up into his arms, made for the bedroom. “I think I’m out of practice,” he murmured. “Now that the children aren’t here, I can think of lots of things that might help me get over it.” And he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him.

.o00o. 

The next morning, after hours of very solid practice, Thorin was roused from his sleep by Tauriel getting out of bed. She began to put on her captain’s uniform and he was immediately awake. “What are you doing?” he said.

“It’s my day up at the outpost,” she said. “I’m afraid I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. I’ve got to go with the men on a night patrol.”

Thorin hated her going on night patrols, especially as the danger of orc attacks became more likely. But he tried not to make a fuss and helped her get breakfast ready.

As she mounted her horse, she bent to kiss him one last time and then grinned. “I’ll be back at dawn tomorrow. Keep the bed warm!”

.o00o. 

Pt III 

As Tauriel rode up to the outpost, she couldn’t help but feel that it held a very special place in her heart. It was something that was all hers, something that she had created and something that she could be proud of. Borondin was on guard duty and saluted her gleefully and soon the others came out to meet her, saluting and helping her from her horse, taking it to the stable and carrying her pack. They all looked so pleased to see her and she was genuinely pleased to see them. Like Lostwithiel, her troop glowed with strength and health because of their active, outdoor life. They were such a fine, good-looking body of men and, although they had bulked up, they still retained their grace and speed.

As she was about to enter the farmhouse, Borondin called out and they all turned to see Lostwithiel riding up from the Grey Havens. As he got nearer, they were shocked to see his battered and bruised face. “Had a run-in with a pack of orcs, sarge?” asked Rostrel with concern. Lostwithiel looked embarrassed and glanced at Tauriel.

“No,” she said in a concerned voice. “Worse than that. He was helping Thorin to rebuild our roof yesterday and he slipped and fell.” There were exclamations of sympathy and lots of tips offered on how not to fall off a roof.

“You might have been killed, sarge,” said Lithin.

“Yes, indeed,” said Lostwithiel, fingering his injuries gently, “there was a moment when I thought I had breathed my last.” He looked at Tauriel and they both grinned at each other. Thank goodness, Tauriel thought. Things seem back to normal.

“How’s Thorin?” he asked her in the office later. 

“Getting over things,” she smiled. “Don’t worry. He will have forgotten about it soon enough and we can all be friends again.”

“You know,” he continued, “I really don’t understand what came over me that night. I feel so ashamed. I just can’t imagine any reason why I would want to get into bed with you.”

“Keep digging, sergeant,” she said.

He blushed: “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” she asked innocently. “Perhaps you can explain yourself, soldier.”

“Well, sir, it’s not that I don’t find you attractive or anything..... because I do....” He spluttered to a halt.

“Now, don’t let Thorin hear you say that,” she said with mock severity, “or you might find yourself just about to breathe your last again.”

He caught the twinkle in her eye and gave a laugh of relief. “I thought you were being serious there, sir.”

“Oh, but surely I was?” said Tauriel. And then, seeing the bemused look on his face, she felt sorry for him and added with a smile: “OK, sergeant. At ease.”

They spent the rest of the morning studying maps and discussing rumours of orc movements. Over the past few years, there had been only a few insignificant raids with the capture of Tauriel and Lostwithiel from the outpost being the most serious. No man, elf or dwarf had lost their lives, mainly because the number of attackers had been so small. But, now, news came in daily of the orcs gathering in groups of thirty or forty and this is why the fortification of farmhouses was currently considered so important. Tauriel set out her route for the night manoeuvres and then they retired to the kitchen for discussions with the rest of her men.

The kitchen had become a desirable place to be. The old table had been cleaned and polished and the chairs had been repaired skilfully and added to. The big iron stove was always lit and glowed comfortably; the flagstones were well-scrubbed and scattered with rugs; and, surprisingly, there were flowers and decorative branches everywhere. It gave the room a feminine touch but all elves love plants and growing things and delight in their fragrance.

They ate their mid-day meal, then sat around the table sharing information and experiences. Everyone was concerned about the increasing number of orc tracks they had found in recent weeks, although these were not numerous and there had been no sightings.

That afternoon, Tauriel instructed them on cooking over an open fire. This was a popular lesson since they got to eat the meals they created that evening and there was much fun and laughter as they either made a hash of things or achieved top culinary status.

They ate well that evening and, as darkness fell, Tauriel, Lostwithiel and four more of her soldiers set out on their night trek. It was a full moon but, although clouds were coming and going across its face, their keen eyesight allowed them to see the countryside effectively. They headed for the area between the farmhouse and the crossroads where there were steep hills of crumbling shale and gorges, providing potential hiding-places for the enemy. Tauriel and Lostwithiel took up position in the shelter of a group of trees and sent off the other four to check out the gullies and ravines. “Report back in two hours,” she said. But in less than two hours, they came hurrying back with the news that they had found a group of twelve orcs making its way through one of the gorges.

“Two each,” grinned Lithin. “We couldn’t miss them - they were making such a racket.” His eyes were bright and excited at the thought of the first piece of action since the raid on the outpost. They moved with the silence of elves until they found the orc band, marching and stumbling along one of the rocky gullies. They took up position on the slopes above; Tauriel organised them with a few gestures and each marked his man. At a signal from their captain, they loosed their arrows. The first six fell and, as the other six ran for cover in a panic, a second flight struck them to the ground as well.

They ran to check them out, killing knives at the ready, but they were all dead. “Well done, lads,” said Tauriel. “Excellent work.” But Lostwithiel was concerned.

“They’re not carrying much,” he said as he examined the bodies. “They were obviously intending to travel fast and light. Perhaps they’re scouts.”

“Then, I wonder where the main party is – and how big it is?” pondered Tauriel.

Just at that moment, there was a whoosh and an explosion as one of Gandalf’s rockets burst in spectacular fashion above them, illuminating with its flowering stars the countryside for miles around.

“Well, there’s part of your answer,” said Lostwithiel grimly. “The main party appear to have launched an attack. But, I’m afraid that the rocket was coming from your forge!”

.o00o. 

Thorin was spending a very lonely day. It was the first time he had been completely on his own in more than two years. Usually, the children kept him company when Tauriel went up to the outpost but they were still with Dis. “I’ve only got you, Dog,” he sighed, looking down at the animal stretched across his feet. “But I suppose you’re better than nothing.” Dog sighed too. He was also missing everyone.

After Tauriel had gone, Thorin had fetched the ladder from the forge to complete the work on the roof but, after only an hour in the hot sun, when his bruises and the sunburn from the previous day were making him feel sorry for himself, he decided to come down and work on his commissions in the forge. Dog was pleased about that because he could lie on his feet and they could be miserable together.

As Thorin worked on a gold belt buckle, he pondered how he had once lived for years on his own and had rather enjoyed it but, ever since Tauriel had come into his life, he had felt lost without her. He remembered that dreadful year – entirely his own fault – when he had stormed out of the forge and she had gone off with Thranduil. His pride and his overheated imagination had stopped him from going after her and he had suffered needlessly because of it. 

He had made her suffer too, accusing her of being in love with the elven king and breaking off their betrothal. He had taken her to his bed one last time and then had cast their betrothal rings into the flames. But she had loved him so much and understood him so well that she had waited for him in Rivendell, knowing that, in the end, he would come to her. And there had been no harsh words. She had kissed him and forgiven him and given him a beautiful son. 

He had learned a bitter lesson.

Or had he? Thorin fidgeted guiltily on his seat as he thought about the events of the previous day when he had been so overwhelmed with jealous images that he had nearly killed a friend. And then he had somehow tried to pass the blame onto Tauriel, treating her like the piece of gold he was working on, a beautiful object to be shut away and safeguarded from the eyes of the world, like the valuable pieces that he kept hidden in his forge or in the vaults of the Grey Havens.

“Right!” he said, standing up abruptly, startling Dog. “Today is a new day. No more jealousy; no more bad temper. From now on, I shall be the husband and the father that Tauriel and the children expect me to be! When I see Lostwithiel next, I shall apologise for my stupidity.......Even though I think he was in the wrong and deserved it,” he added. Dog looked unconvinced.

The rest of the day dragged on slowly. He and Dog ate an evening meal together and then went around the hall testing out the new anti-orc shutters. He bolted and barred them all - there were two at the front, two at the back and one on the end gable – and tested the arrow slits, which could also be opened or closed. He then barred the door with the strong strips of metal that he had recently forged for the purpose. After that he went to the stash of bows, arrows and spears and shared them out and stored them beneath the five windows. Gandalf’s rockets he placed next to the fireplace along with the tinder box. Orcrist and his long-handled axe he propped in a corner.

He didn’t mind being shut in like his, with no natural light, although he was sure the children would object but, for the moment at least, if they wanted to live at the forge, these were the precautions they would have to take nightly.

He got himself ready for bed; if he went to sleep, the dawn and Tauriel would come all the more quickly...... if he went to sleep, of course. Before he went to his room, he tried one final thing: a bit of Dog training. “Guard!” he said firmly to Dog, and pointed to the door. Dog looked at him as if he were mad, jumped onto the bed and snuggled under the coverlets. Ah well, thought Thorin, he would have to put that on his list of Things to Do, along with the roof.

Against all expectations, Thorin fell quickly to sleep, helped by the shuttered darkness of the room. But it felt like only a brief moment before he was woken again by Dog, whining quietly and snuffling around the front door. He was immediately awake and, pulling on his breeches, he moved swiftly and silently across the room to one of the front shutters. Carefully, he opened the arrow slit and gazed out into the night. The moon was shining brightly and, amongst the trees and bushes that surrounded the forge, he could see large, moving shapes. Orcs! And a lot of them! An attack was happening at last and he was only glad that neither Tauriel nor the children were here to share it with him.

An orc broke away from the main group and slunk towards the house. It approached the far window and seemed to be trying to peer in through a gap in the shutters. Thorin moved to the window, picked up a spear and, silently releasing the catch on the arrow slit, thrust it with all his strength out into the dark. He felt his spear strike home; there was a terrible scream and then silence. Well, that had given the game away, he thought. Now they knew that he was home too. Then he sprang to the fireplace and quickly set fire to the tinder inside the box. It caught immediately and he held it to the tail of the rocket. The chimney stack was large and wide, and you could see the stars if you stood in the hearth and looked upwards. The rocket shot straight and true up the chimney and burst in a giant explosion of beautiful flowers into the darkness. And Thorin felt more than a small amount of pleasure that one of his plans had worked. Now, all he had to do was hold them at bay.

The orcs suffered a few moments of panic, startled by the death of their comrade and also by the firework bursting above them. He guessed they had never seen anything like it before. Then, before they could gather their wits, he ran to each of the front windows, firing off a number of arrows from each of them into the group behind the trees. From the yells, he reckoned he had got at least four of them. 

Then they spread out and began to surround the forge and he ran first to the gable end and then to the rear windows, firing volleys of arrows from each. Not only did he catch them unawares so that a few more went down, but he was confident that they thought, at least for the moment, that the house must be manned by half a dozen men. And every time he caught one slinking up to the windows, he speared him in the same way as he had done the first orc.

Thorin was beginning to enjoy himself. He reckoned he had killed or injured at least fifteen of the thirty or forty orcs gathered outside his forge. Keep on coming, he grinned. But suddenly they withdrew and it went silent. What were they up to? And then he heard a banging and crashing as they forced their way into his forge and a screaming of horses as they broke into the stables. There was a thunder of hooves as his two horses burst out of the barn and galloped away. No escape on horseback, then, he thought.

After that, it went silent again and he wondered what they were doing in the forge. Then he saw some of them emerging with ladders and he knew what they would do next. He ran to the kitchen pump and began to fill buckets and containers with water. Soon, a whole hail of fire arrows began to rain upon his roof and he cursed himself that he hadn’t finished replacing the thatch with the stone tiles. It wasn’t long before the straw caught.

Thorin dragged his table to the centre of the room where the great beam ran the length of the house. He built a platform using a second table from the kitchen and a chair, climbed this makeshift ladder and, with a bucket carried in one hand, managed to reach the beam. He walked along the beam and drenched the smouldering thatch. The fire was extinguished and he returned again and again until both beam and straw were thoroughly soaked.

But then he had to dash to defend his door as a group began to batter it with a large log they had found in the wood. He managed to kill one with an arrow but spear thrusts through the arrow slit in the door proved the most effective form of defence.

A crashing above his head distracted him. They had climbed to the roof and were pulling away the remnants of the thatch. At the same moment, he realised that they had set his forge on fire. Well, that would have to wait. He could see an orc face peering through the hole in the roof and a host of them would come at him from that direction if he didn’t stop them. He climbed back onto the great beam once more, axe in hand, and confronted an armed orc who was edging towards him from the other end. Thorin was very agile and, using the long handle of his axe to help his balance, he rushed the orc and struck him from the beam before the creature had the chance to go more than a few steps.

Then he climbed through the hole and emerged out onto the roof to face the other invaders. His forge was in flames and, soon, the main house would catch too. But now, with his back to the hall’s chimney stack and his axe in his hand he felt he could make a good stand against the last group of orcs. Twenty to one! Well, he was in with a chance. He bestrode the ridge and it was impossible for more than one of them to come at him at any one time. He roared in a battle fury as, one by one, he struck them down. 

But then, a large orc, armed with a bow, and standing on the roof at a safe distance from the reach of his axe, fired an arrow that struck him in the arm so that he dropped his weapon. The creature grinned in triumph and, coming closer, raised his bow to shoot him through the heart. Thorin saw his death. But, suddenly and unexpectedly, the bowman collapsed with an arrow through his neck. He heard a great whoop and there was Lostwithiel waving his bow in triumph as Tauriel and her men ran into the clearing.

The end for the raiding party came very quickly. The elves soon wiped out most of them with their arrows and knives, though a few escaped into the woods. Tauriel was the first up the ladder and onto the roof whilst Borondin and Rostrel attempted to put out the fire in the forge. She cradled Thorin in her arms and he could see the tears glinting in her eyes. 

“Gandalf’s rockets worked then,” he said.

Three of them managed to lower him down from the roof while Lithin climbed inside the house and opened the door. Dog was barking in frustration because he had been unable to get out and join in the fun and fussed over Thorin as they carried him to his bed.

“It’s only a flesh wound,” said Tauriel as she cleaned and bound Thorin’s arm.

Her troop cleared away the orc bodies and got them ready for burning. “That was an amazing feat,” said Lostwithiel. “You killed twenty-five out of forty of them singlehandedly.”

“But all that effort would have been pointless if you hadn’t arrived to shoot down that bowman,” acknowledged Thorin. And he leaned forward and grasped Lostwithiel by the arm. He didn’t have to say any more. The elf knew that everything was all right between them again.

The forge was nearly totally destroyed but the valuable commissions and Thorin’s other possessions were still safe and undamaged in their hiding place. “We’ll catch your horses tomorrow,” said Lostwithiel.

.o00o. 

“Well, you didn’t keep the bed very warm,” said Tauriel as she got in beside her husband.

“Warm enough,” he grinned.

“Warm enough for what?” she asked. “You’re a wounded man, remember.”

“It’s only a wounded arm,” whispered Thorin in her ear, “not a vital organ.” And he lowered himself over her and kissed a sensitive spot behind her pointed ear.

“Well, I’m very relieved about that,” she murmured, and she tugged his plaits gently and pulled him down upon her breast.

.o00o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Dark. So, their house is a mess and the Oakenshields must move elsewhere whilst repairs are done. Dis takes them in, but, is the dwarven settlement a place where Rose and Arion can get into more mischief and will this mean a deadly danger for them all?


	9. Thorin and the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, the orc raid has partially destroyed Thorin’s home and he and Tauriel must move to temporary accommodation while both extensions and repair work get done. Where will they go? Well, Dis offers them a temporary home in the caverns and the underground tunnels of the dwarven settlement in the Blue Mountains. But, is this a dangerous environment for Thorin’s naughty, inquisitive children and will the move involve more adventures?
> 
> Short answer: Yes, LOL!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details of this chapter are based on some of the things I have seen and experienced in Cheddar Caves (UK) and in the cave system of Majorca.

Thorin and the Dark  
PT I

The morning after the raid, Thorin was awake before Tauriel. A lot of things were hurting, his wounded arm in particular. As he tried to ease it from under his wife’s golden head, he let out a groan and she stirred sleepily. “Is it time to get up?” she asked.

“No, not yet,” he said, “but you’re lying on my arm.” Full of concern, she immediately rolled away. “Don’t go too far,” he murmured, edging after her. “I think I could stand the pain if you kissed it better afterwards.” And he gave her a brave little look. 

“You’re as bad as the children,” she smiled, touching his face tenderly. “Perhaps worse.”

“Definitely worse,” he breathed in his dark, silken voice. “A real, bad boy.”

She ran her fingers through his mass of black hair and pulled him towards her so that she could kiss the graze on his forehead. Then she kissed the bruise on his cheekbone and the scratch on his nose. After that, she kissed the red marks on his neck where Lostwithiel had been a little overenthusiastic in his own self defence. She pushed the sheet back and it slid onto the floor. The bruises on his chest were more vivid than ever and she lowered her head to brush her lips gently over them. He groaned and his eyelids fluttered in expectation.

There was a sharp rap on the bedroom door and it was flung open by Lostwithiel who entered with a tray. “Breakfast!” he sang cheerfully.

Thorin let out an expletive and immediately rolled over on top of Tauriel, hiding her naked body from view. “Not looking! Not looking!” the elf carolled as he placed the tray on the bedside table. “And, anyway, it’s nothing that....” 

 

“Don’t you dare say,” growled Thorin, thinking of the elf lord’s escapade with his wife, “that it’s nothing you haven’t seen already, or, I promise you, this time I really will kill you.”

Lostwithiel stood by the bed and looked down at Thorin’s fine backside. “Well, what I was going to say,” he said, “is that you’ve got nothing that I haven’t got so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” And, with that, he gave the dwarf’s buttocks a hearty slap and sailed, singing, out of the room.

Thorin and Tauriel looked wide-eyed at each other for a moment and then collapsed in a splutter of laughter.

“You need to keep that man under control,” gasped Thorin rolling onto his back once more.

“No time,” said Tauriel, as Thorin pulled her onto his chest. “I’m too busy keeping this one under control.”

.o00o. 

After Thorin had given her a full demonstration of his uncontrollable behaviour, the breakfast was stone cold. They got dressed and opened the bedroom door. A huge cheer greeted them and they stood transfixed on the threshold. “Damn!” said Thorin, staring at all of Tauriel’s troop who were gathered around the dining table. “I’d forgotten about that lot!” Not only the patrol but everyone else from the outpost had seen the signal rocket and had galloped to Thorin’s rescue. They had been sleeping all over the place that night – outside, in the guest rooms, in the barn and in the hall - and now they were waiting to congratulate him and fuss over him. Not only was he their captain’s husband but he was their mentor, a great warrior and a real man. And, on the previous night – in more ways than one - he had proved it. And a few of them winked at each other.

Thorin felt a bit uncomfortable when he saw their knowing grins, but they drew him to the table and set food before him and discussed in detail all the ploys he had used in defence of the forge until he felt overwhelmed by their praise and enthusiasm. “You’ve proved to all of Ered Luin and the Grey Havens that your ideas were the right ones. If one man can hold off forty orcs using your methods, then just think how successful half a dozen could be,” they said. And Thorin had to admit that he felt a real sense of satisfaction.

Then they discussed what he and Tauriel and his family should do next. The forge was almost completely gutted; the guest rooms were suffering from smoke damage and the stables had been trashed by the orcs. The hall itself had largely escaped except that the roof needed to be completed – and completed quickly – since the thatched section had been burned or ripped off. Tauriel thought it a good idea for them all to move elsewhere while the repair work and rebuilding was done.

Neither of them fancied moving back to the Grey Havens even though it would have been convenient to rent their old house and use the forge Thorin had cobbled together in the town. The outpost was too small to take the entire family and not really suitable for children. And so that left the dwarven settlement. This was the obvious choice: the children were already there, Dis would love to have their company for a while, he could use the forges to complete his commissions, he could consult with the masons and carpenters over the repair work and he could explore the caves that had been made into a home for the dwarves in exile. They were very extensive and he had only ever had the opportunity to visit parts of them; and besides, it would be nice to live underground once more.

After breakfast, most of the elves returned to their post up at the farmhouse but Lostwithiel and a couple of the others climbed onto the roof to complete the job and close the hole. Then they also went back to their duties. Tauriel and Thorin spent the day packing and tidying, but then stayed one more night at the hall. Out of a whole week that they had planned to spend alone together, they were only going to salvage a single night. Thorin was grumpy but his wife pointed out that it was better than nothing. “And also,” she added, “much, much better than having your husband killed by orcs!”

Thorin pulled his sulky face – the face designed to persuade Tauriel that he needed to be wheedled back into a good humour. He enjoyed her wheedling. “What about,” she cajoled, “if we try to pack a week’s worth into one night – just to make up for it, hmmm?”

He pursed his lips doubtfully.

“Or perhaps you don’t think you’re up to it,” she teased.

“Well, I could try,” he said with a sigh. And he gave the night his best shot.

.o00o. 

When they reached the dwarven settlement the next day, Dis was first of all surprised to see them, then horrified to hear of the orc attack and then thrilled that they wanted to stay for some weeks. Rose and Arion were out playing with the dwarf and men children and Dog was sent to find them. They soon came rushing back and flung their arms excitedly about their parents, their tongues tripping over themselves as they gave garbled accounts of the delightful time they had spent so far with their aunt. When they heard that they were all going to stay longer, they jumped and whooped around the room, then were even more excited when they heard the reason why.

Neither seemed particularly concerned that Thorin might have been killed. After all, he was a legendary warrior and they had absolute faith in his immortality. They both climbed upon his lap and wanted to know every gory detail.

“I wish I ‘ad been there,” said Rose, her eyes glowing. “I could’ve guarded them arrow slits with a spear. I could’ve stuck them one.” And Arion protested that he was a good climber and that he could have got up on the roof and “pushed them orcses off!”

“One good thing about all this,” said Tauriel, “when they go to rebuild the forge, we’ll get them to build you a bedroom all of your own, Rose, next to Arion’s. Isn’t that nice?”

But, no, it wasn’t nice. Rose and Dog and Arion were pack animals, running and tumbling and playing and sleeping together. Arion cried that he didn’t want to sleep on his own because he was frightened of the dark and Rose said that she liked sleeping in Arion’s room and telling him stories before he went to sleep.

“No wonder he has nightmares,” said Thorin.

Then they both argued over who Dog would sleep with.

“Well,” said Rose. “We could always get anuvver one.”

“No!!” said Thorin and Tauriel together.

It was late, and, in the end, tired and excited, they both fell asleep on Thorin’s broad chest. Tauriel moved to carry them to bed. “No, let them stay for a bit,” he said.

Dis sighed and looked fondly at Thorin and the two sleeping children. “My sons loved you too, brother,” she said softly. “There’s something about you that attracts children.”

“I can’t imagine what,” he said. “I’m always so grumpy with them.”

“I think that’s what they like,” laughed Tauriel.

.o00o. 

In bed that night, Tauriel cuddled up to Thorin and said, “I’m a bit worried about the children and their sleeping habits.”

“In what way?” said Thorin. “Apart from the fact that their sleeping habits often involve them sleeping habitually with us.”

“Well, that’s one aspect,” said his wife, “but it’s all wrapped up with them not liking to be on their own. Arion’s afraid of the dark and monsters and has nightmares. Rose is nine. She’s such an adult child and yet she clings to both you and Arion. It’s as if she’s too afraid to let you out of her sight in case you disappear.”

Thorin reassured her. “Hopefully, Arion is just being normal for his age. Once Rose moves to a separate room, I reckon he’ll see that he’s got nothing to be afraid of. Rose is a bit more tricky. She’s been through so much, it’s not surprising that she’s always waiting for the next horrible thing to happen to her. She’ll learn to feel safe in the end.”

“And perhaps,” said Tauriel, “once she’s got her own room, she’ll realise the advantages of sleeping on her own.”

“Tell me about them,” murmured Thorin, nuzzling her neck. “I can’t think of any advantages to sleeping on my own right now.”

.o00o. 

PT II

Dis’ house was splendidly unusual. It was carved into the rock face near the entrance to the main caverns. The front of it had a door and windows, just like a nomal house, but the rest stretched back and back, so that the rear rooms had no natural light and the back door made its exit into the cave system. The guest bedroom was in a rear room and Thorin loved it there because it reminded him of his childhood home in the Lonely Mountain.

“I feel I become a lot more dwarvish here,” he said to Tauriel. “You’ll have to watch out for unusual changes in me.” And he laughed.

The children shared a front bedroom with natural light because Arion was afraid of the dark.

“Well, he doesn’t get it from my side of the family, I must admit,” said Thorin. “Where is the dwarf in him?”

“Well, perhaps his elven side is dominant in this instance,” said Tauriel. “I don’t really like this room either. The darkness oppresses me and I feel trapped. I’d rather sleep up a tree any day.”

They overslept on their first morning because they had no dawn to wake them. The one advantage, Tauriel thought, was that the children didn’t like the room either and kept to their own sunlit sleeping quarters. But they were having a very good time at their aunt’s home. As usual, Rose had become a leader amongst the local dwarven children even though she wasn’t a dwarf. The force of her character, her sense of fun and her lively ideas for passing the time and getting into trouble attracted them like a magnet. But, her very best friend and follower was a young dwarf lad called Darri, older than Rose but already shorter. He was daring and reckless like Rose and had the same sense of humour and they could often be found rocking with laughter over some private joke in a corner of the caves.

The dark held no fears for Darri and he knew the vast cave system like the back of his hand. Together, he and Rose explored its furthest reaches and, in less than a week, she had become more comfortable underground than Arion. She knew more about the caves than even Thorin who was only familiar with the outer halls.

“It’s all just so beautiful,” she said to them at breakfast.

“Beautiful?” said Tauriel, making odious comparisons in her head with the airy caves and the tree houses of Mirkwood. To her, what little she had seen here was vast, echoing and gloomy, its dark corners dimly lit by an insufficient number of lanterns.

“I’ll get Darri to take you all on a guided tour,” Rose said. “He knows all the best bits. Wouldn’t you like to come and see, Arion?” she asked, but the little boy looked slightly doubtful of the pleasure.

However, the whole family went off to examine the forges deep down in the mountains. Thorin needed to finish off a couple of commissions, “and then I’ll take a break,” he said. Tauriel and the children were interested in seeing a large number of dwarves all doing what they did best and they were certainly impressed. Iron was mined in the Blue Mountains and it was brought to the furnaces to be smelted and forged into weapons and tools. A huge cavern with a lofty ceiling was alive with smiths working at their anvils; the heat was fierce and giant vents drew the smoke away to the upper world. The noise was tremendous and the children screamed with excitement and covered their ears.

Gold was not forged in these caves and so Thorin soon had an audience who wanted to see the beautiful jewellery that he was making. Tauriel and the children left him in the middle of an enthusiastic crowd and the elf smiled to see that he was revelling in the interest and attention.

“I’m going to take you to see something special tonight that Darri has told me about,” said Rose, “and then you’ll see just how beautiful these caves can be.”

Thorin returned from his day at the forges satisfied and happy. He was filthy and stained with sweat and Tauriel took him to the washroom where he stripped off and cleaned up. She worked a tall pump whilst he drenched himself beneath it. He seems so full of life, she thought. It was as if the massed energies of the forges had entered him so that he radiated their fire and energy. He squeezed out his wet hair and ran his hands down his limbs sluicing off the dirt. Then he turned towards her with a devilish glint.

She backed off, laughing. “No,” she said.

“Yes,” he insisted. And he cornered her before she could run for the door and wrapped her in his arms, pressing her against his naked, sopping body. She laughed and complained and wriggled but gradually her struggles ceased as he kissed her with an intensity that seemed to radiate from his contact with the forge.

“Do you know how much I love you, Tauriel?” he whispered.

She held his face between her hands and looked steadily into his eyes. “Show me,” she said.

His blue eyes turned smoky and then black with passion and he reached to the door and turned the key.

.o00o. 

After the evening meal, Darri came visiting. “We’re going to take you on a trip,” said Rose. “Darri says it’s lovely. Can Arion stay up tonight so that he can come too?”

Tauriel could see the excitement shining in Rose’s eyes and didn’t want to spoil her treat and so said that Arion could come if he wished. Arion was wide-eyed at the thought of staying up late with all the big people and, when they were ready, Rose and Darri lead the way. 

They penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of the Blue Mountains, passing through an amazing succession of caverns. Some were dripping with an array of stalactites that fell and rippled in cream and orange and snowy white flows from the ceiling and finished in a reflection of still pools. Other caves glittered with silvery ores and fool’s gold threading through the walls in a myriad patterns and some were a wonder of pillars and ceilings carved into the living stone by the hand of the dwarves. At first, Arion insisted on being carried by his father; then he walked holding tightly onto his mother’s hand, and finally he ran ahead with the other two children, pointing and laughing in wonder. Tauriel linked her arm through her husband’s. “It is very beautiful,” she said.

They emerged from one cavern at a complex crossing of tunnels. Darri pointed down one darkened corridor and said that a whole series of new caves had been found that were just waiting to be opened up and explored. And then they turned into a final cavern and had reached the promised destination.

The cave was a massive circular space, scoured out in ages past by some giant eddy. No pillar supported its roof which seemed held up by unknown forces and Tauriel felt momentarily afraid as she glanced up and considered the great weight of the mountain above pressing down upon them. And then she saw that it had been made into an amphitheatre with seats carved into the stone on one side, and these seats faced the most remarkable feature of the cavern: a great lake, dark and glassy and still. There were already many dwarves gathered on the seats and, soon after their arrival, a number of attendants began to remove and quench the lanterns one by one until, at last, they were sitting in an impenetrable darkness. Arion was sitting on Rose’s lap next to Thorin and his excitement at this very grown-up moment overcame his fear. “Wait,” whispered Darri.

They stared ahead into the darkness until Thorin imagined he could hear the strains of music played on many harps. And then, on the left hand side of the lake, he thought he could see the palest glimmer of light. As they strained their eyes and ears, the glimmer became a glow and he could hear the plaintive chanting of dwarven voices and he recognised the song: it was the song from his youth, the song that sang to him, and to the exiled dwarves sitting all about him, the story of the destruction of their home under the Lonely Mountain by the dragon Smaug:

The pines were roaring on the height,  
The winds were moaning in the night.  
The fire was red, it flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light.

A low-slung boat emerged from behind the rocks and seated in the boat were dwarven singers playing on harps and around them sat others bearing torches. The boat slid silently through the black water and the torches reflected their fire upon its surface. The song was piercingly sad and the deep voices were full of memory and pain. Thorin had been out hunting that night with his father. They had looked up as the great wind from the wings of Smaug the Golden had swept over them. Then, suddenly, the resinous pine trees were on fire and the bells rang out from the town of Dale and the Mountain smoked beneath the moon. The people of Dale were screaming and trying to escape; the dwarves in the Lonely Mountain were being roasted alive, trapped within their halls. The song recounted the whole dreadful story and the voices of the dwarves were filled with grief as they testified to this most traumatic moment in dwarven history. 

The boat slid gracefully across the lake and there was scarcely a ripple on its sleek surface. The harps played, the voices sang, the torches shone like dragon-fire until, at last, the boat, the torches and the singers’ voices disappeared and faded behind the rocks on the far side of the lake. No-one moved; no-one stirred or uttered a word, not even the children. They sat in the blackness as if under a spell. Then, at last, the lamps were slowly lit again and Tauriel turned to Thorin and saw that his face was wet with tears.

No-one spoke on the way home. Tauriel held Thorin’s arm and squeezed his hand and the children walked silently behind them. At the parting of the ways, Darri whispered goodbye to them and the children went quietly to bed when they reached their aunt’s home. They had a profound sense of what they had witnessed, a living testament to the cruellest episode in their history, and there seemed no need for talking. Dis knew where they had all been and kissed her brother on his cheek. “I remember,” she said.

“And I shall never forget,” said Thorin.

Tauriel took him gently to bed and kissed him and held him softly in her arms. And she felt as if she now understood a little of that terrible moment in her husband’s young life, how it must have affected him and how it had made him into the dangerous, brooding, vulnerable dwarf that he had become.

.o00o. 

PT III

The next morning, Thorin was up and out before anyone else. “It’s best to leave him on his own for a while,” said Dis. “It always affects us for a day or so if we go to The Remembering.”

Rose was distressed. “If I ‘ad known it was all about the dragon and it was goin’ to upset ‘im, I wouldn’t ‘ave taken ‘im. But Darri said it was good.”

“Well, it is good,” said Dis, gently. “It’s good to remember and to think of our friends and everything that we lost.”

“But you’ve got the Mountain back again and the dragon is dead,” said Rose.

“Yes, and that’s why it’s important to remember. It would be easy to forget now that we’ve got our ancestral halls and treasure back. We didn’t do this before but now we have a Remembering on a regular basis.”

Rose still looked puzzled. “But I still don’t understand why Darri said it was good when it was really sad.”

“Sad and beautiful,” said Dis. “And hasn’t it helped you understand Thorin better now that you know what he has been through?”

Rose had to agree with this and even Arion, although only three, felt closer to his father.

Later that day, the children went to look for him and they found him sitting in a gully by the river where it made its exit, roaring and foaming, from the caves. They sat either side of him and leaned against him companionably and held his hand. And, in the end, he sighed and said, “Come on, you two, let’s go home and have some food.”

After a meal, he seemed to cheer up and he went off to talk to the masons and carpenters about repairs to the forge. Rose and Arion found where Darri and a group of other dwarf children were playing and tried to stir up some mischief. 

.o00o. 

Thorin had just come back from a successful meeting with the dwarf craftsmen when, suddenly, Darri came running into the house. “I’ve lost them! I can’t find them!” he gasped, out of breath.

“Slow down,” said Thorin, kneeling and holding Darri by the shoulders. “Who’s lost?”

“Rose and Arion!” And Tauriel stepped forward at their names, suddenly very afraid.

“Catch your breath,” said Thorin calmly, although his heart was pounding. Then Darri told them how they had all been playing hide and seek in the caverns and it had been Rose and Arion’s turn. “We searched and searched but couldn’t find them and when we called for them to come out, come out, wherever they were, they didn’t come!” And he burst into tears.

“Right,” said Dis, stepping forward. She had had plenty of experience of trying to find small children in the caves of the Lonely Mountain. “Thorin and Tauriel, you go with Darri so that he can show you where last he saw them. And take Dog with you – he may be able to sniff them out. I’ll go and get together a search party and we’ll catch up with you.”

When Thorin and Tauriel reached the area where the children had been playing near The Remembering cavern, Thorin held items of the children’s clothing under Dog’s nose and said, “Find them, Dog! Find them!” although he held out little hope that their daft pet would cooperate. But Dog immediately began to snuffle on the ground, running backwards and forwards until he finally set off down one of the main tunnels. A short time later, they got to the place where half a dozen passages led off in different directions and Dog hesitated at the entrance to the dark, unlit corridor where the dwarves were investigating a new cave system. The path was blocked by a frail wicker fence to indicate that it was not an open route. “Yes,” sighed Thorin. “Of course they went that way. Where else?”

They each took a spare lantern from among those stored in niches at regular intervals along the corridor and then they plunged into the darkness. 

.o00o. 

It was totally, completely, utterly black. It was a blackness you could touch. Rose thought at first that she had her eyes closed, but they were open. The lantern had gone out when the prop had cracked and the roof had caved in. She was still holding onto Arion’s hand tightly. “Don’t be afraid, Arion,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said. “But can we go home now?”

“I can’t, Arion,” she said and she tried to say it calmly. “There’s somefink on me leg and I can’t move. Do you fink you can find your way back and get Thorin and Tauriel to come and ‘elp?”

There was a pause and then a tentative, “P’raps.”

“You’ll have to let go of me ‘and, Arion, and find the wall and then feel your way along.”

He slowly let go of her hand and a moment later said, “I’ve found the wall, Rose.”

“Good boy,” she said. “You might ‘ave to climb over lots of stones but call back to me if you fink you’ve got past it.”

A few minutes later, he called back from along the tunnel and she urged him: “Go on, Arion. Find Thorin. He’ll get me out.”

.o00o. 

Dog’s snuffles were getting more and more excited. Thorin held up his lantern and peered ahead into the dark. The further they got down the tunnel, the more difficult their progress became. In the end, the dwarves would make the route at least as tall as a man and wide enough for three to walk abreast but, at the moment, they were steadily trying to open up what had originally been no more than a wriggle hole. The passageway was currently still narrow and they had to crouch as they walked along. Their miners had propped the new passage with timbers but it was hard going and the floor was rocky. Probably a lot easier for two children, Thorin thought.

They turned a corner and Dog barked joyfully. There, edging his way down the tunnel towards them and blinking in the light cast by their lantern was Arion. Or, at least they thought it was Arion. His black hair was white with dust and the dust had also settled on his face like a mask. His wide, staring eyes and white skin made him look like a creature from the lower depths, one which had never seen the light of day. They all rushed forward with cries of gladness; Dog barked frantically and Darri whooped whilst Tauriel swept him up in her arms.

Arion seemed impatient with their displays of affection and concern for his welfare. He struggled out of Tauriel’s arms and dashed back into the darkness of the tunnel. “Quick! Quick! Rose is hurt,” he yelled. They followed him anxiously until they came to a section of the corridor where there was stone rubble half-blocking their route. And there was Rose, lying on the floor, with a broken pit prop pinning down her leg.

Thorin ran forward but Rose shouted in a sharp voice: “Stop! Don’t move!” And he stopped. “Look,” she said, glancing up at the ceiling. And when he looked, he saw that there was a crack which seemed to open even as he watched it. A shower of dust and fine stones sifted gently down on Rose; and the timber, which stretched from side to side of the roof and which was supposed to be holding it all up, was split and sagging in the middle. They could hear a faint creaking and groaning. 

Thorin edged forward very, very gently. He positioned himself beneath the beam and then stood upright so that it was resting on his bent shoulders. With an effort, he thrust upwards and, groaning and cracking, the beam straightened. There was a sudden rush of tiny stones and then the creaking ceased. “Get her out,” he grunted to Tauriel and Darri. The strain showed on his face. His legs were braced but a tremble ran through his whole body and the veins stood out on his neck.

Tauriel and Darri moved as quickly as possible, throwing rubble to one side and then dragging Rose clear from under the timber. Thorin was bathed in sweat and his muscles bulged and strained. “Now get them all out!” he gasped. “Once I let go of this beam, I think the whole lot will go.”

Tauriel looked at Thorin in horror and anguish but she knew what she had to do. Darri took Arion by the hand and she lifted Rose in her arms. Slowly she backed down the corridor, her eyes fixed on Thorin, holding him with her gaze. “I love you,” she said.

He couldn’t answer. The effort was taking every breath. But the look he sent her said everything he felt for her.

They had just got to the bend in the tunnel and she prepared to take her last look at him when, suddenly, Dog began to bark frantically and around the corner came Dis with a band of dwarves. “We saw the wicker gate was down,” she said. “We thought you must be here.”

“Help him!” gasped Tauriel and the dwarves ran up to Thorin and, taking the weight from him, hastened to prop the roof with other beams. Tauriel handed Rose to Dis and turned to clasp Thorin in her arms as he stumbled forward. Together, the family emerged from the tunnels and, clutching, carrying and supporting each other, went home. 

.o00o. 

Rose’s leg was not broken as they had feared, just badly bruised. She lay on her bed and gazed mournfully at everyone gathered around her. “You could have caused the death of your entire family,” said Dis severely. Rose’s face twisted in a grimace of guilt. 

“I know,” she whispered. “And if you want me to pack me bags and go then I will. I’m nothing but trouble, am I?”

Thorin sighed and sat on her bed and held her hand. “For better or worse – when are you going to understand that, Rose? Just try to think before you do anything next time, that’s all.” And he gave her a hug and Rose had a little weep.

“I knew you would come,” she said.

“He always does,” smiled Tauriel.

Then he turned to Arion who was lying on the adjacent bed. “And I suppose that, after that experience in the dark, we’re never going to persuade you to sleep in your own room?”

“Oh, no,” said Arion, “I’m not frightened of the dark any more. But I shan’t be sleeping on my own.”

His father raised an eyebrow. “And why not?” 

“Because there are still monsters under the bed!” he replied with conviction.

.o00o. 

Thorin and Tauriel lay side by side on the comfortable guest bed together and Thorin reached out to extinguish the lantern. “No, leave it lit,” said Tauriel. “I want to look at you.” She raised herself on her forearm and her eyes travelled greedily over his handsome face, absorbing every feature. She touched his hair softly. “I thought I would never see you again,” she said and her voice trembled. He brushed his lips against hers and then pulled her onto his great chest. His lids fluttered shut and he groaned.

“No, open your eyes,” she said.

They gazed at each other in the shadowy gloom, making love silently and passionately. Thorin could see the glint of tears in her eyes and felt them falling upon his face. He reached up to wipe them from her cheeks. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m not going away.”

But Tauriel knew that he would go away. And she lay in his arms when he slept and thought about the long years of immortality stretching out before her when she would be alone without him. 

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Unexpected Journey. A moment from Thorin and Tauriel’s past comes back to haunt them and they must take their punishment on the chin, travelling across Middle-earth, all the way to the Lonely Mountain with their family before they can return. They meet faces old and new and not every experience is a good one.


	10. Thorin and the Unexpected Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be sure your sins will find you out! The events of two years earlier finally catch up with Thorin and Tauriel and the Oakenshield family go back into the heart of Middle-earth. As the world opens up to them, will Arion and Rose see life – and Thorin - differently? Will Thorin keep his temper amongst all those elves? And what has driven them out into the big, wide world anyway? Hope you all enjoy accompanying Thorin on his unexpected journey.

Thorin and the Unexpected Journey  
Pt I 

Thorin groaned when he woke up the next morning. He was still stiff, battered and bruised from the scrap with Lostwithiel and the fight with the orcs. And now, the strain of holding up the pit prop had not only pulled another set of muscles but his wounded arm had burst open and had bled all over the sheets during the night.

“Poor Thorin,” murmured Tauriel, opening one eye, but since she immediately went back to sleep, he didn’t feel that he was getting the sympathy that he deserved. He got up, got dressed and went to help Dis in the kitchen. Dis was too busy to offer him much sympathy either and the hero of the hour was feeling a bit under-appreciated.

The children and Dog rushed through the room. “Hello!” they shouted and disappeared out through the back door and into the cave system. “We’re going out to play!” No considerate thoughts for his suffering from that quarter, then.

“And no hide and seek,” he thought to yell after them.

He sat down to eat his breakfast and Tauriel had just appeared looking like she could do with a few more hours’ sleep, when there was a knock at the door. On the step were standing two guards from the dwarven Council.

“The Council would like to see you and your wife in two hours,” they said, looking rather stern. They would say no more and Thorin and Tauriel were left to wonder what the summons was all about.

“Perhaps they want to consult us about protecting the settlement,” said Tauriel.

But, when they arrived at the Meeting Hall in one of the inner caverns, it was not what they expected at all. The whole Council had convened in full regalia and were sitting behind a long table. Thorin and Tauriel were not invited to sit down but were made to stand in front of them. The leader of the Council, an elderly dwarf called Malik, said to them, “We have called you here today on a very serious charge: just over two years ago, three men and three dwarves from this settlement were found dead by the side of the road less than a mile from here. They had injuries consistent with swords and axes. No-one knew how they had died, until yesterday.” He gestured to a guard who opened a side door and into the room came the dwarven woman who, with the help of the other six, had tried to take Arion. Malik said: “Are these the two responsible for the deaths of the three men and the three dwarves?”

She looked at them sullenly. “Yes,” she said.

Malik looked back to the dwarf and his wife. “Is what she says true?” he asked.

For a brief moment, Thorin considered what to say. Then he looked at Tauriel and back at Malik. “Yes,” he said, “but I would ask the Council to hear what we have to say concerning the circumstances.”

Malik nodded and then Thorin gestured to Tauriel that she begin. “When we were first betrothed,” she said, “and we came to these halls, we were received very badly by some including those six who are dead and this dwarven woman. Moreover, at one time, after visiting Dis, this group threatened my son and called him an abomination who should have been killed at birth. Not long afterwards, they tried to kidnap my son and murder him and Thorin and I, in his and our own defence, were obliged to kill them.”

Thorin stepped forward and put his arm around Tauriel. “It was seven against two. The woman had the child. My wife was being held by two of the men and had been dragged from her horse. You should know yourself that they were not helpless but were well-armed mercenaries and veterans.” And he then turned angrily towards the woman: “And why have you only come forward now? You only incriminate yourself. Have you been promised a large sum of money by those who still hate us to bring this accusation?”

The woman shuffled her feet and refused to answer.

Malik looked gravely around the Council and then back to Thorin and Tauriel. “Thorin Oakenshield,” he said, “most of us have known you for many years, even before that time when we were driven into exile from the Lonely Mountain. You have been our king and you have helped to win back our ancestral halls and treasure from the dragon, Smaug. We know you to be a great warrior and, even at this moment, you and your wife are helping to fight off the bands of orcs that threaten us here in Ered Luin. We hold you in high esteem and, furthermore, when you killed these men and dwarves, you only did what any other man or dwarf would have done. But.....” and he leaned forward in his chair as he made ready to pass judgement.

Yes, sighed Thorin to himself, there’s always a ‘but’.

“.....But, you have not only kept this incident to yourself, however justified, but you have still been responsible for 6 deaths......However....”

Good. Thorin was glad about the ‘however’.

“.....However, under the circumstances, we feel that you and your wife only deserve a token punishment.”

Thorin heaved a sigh of relief.

“You are both exiled from Ered Luin for a period of 6 months. You have 48 hours in which to remove yourself from within our borders.” 

The Council uprose and swept out of the room but Thorin and Tauriel stood and faced each other in stunned silence. “It could have been worse,” Thorin said finally.

.o00o. 

The whole family assembled at Dis’ house. “I suppose I could look after the children until you come back,” she said. But Arion and Rose clung to Tauriel and Thorin and said that wherever the two of them went, then they would go too.

“Well,” decided Thorin, I think that the best thing to do is to get out of Ered Luin and then decide where we’re going from there. Let’s have a vote on visiting Bilbo.” And they all thought this a good idea and cheered up considerably. Arion knew nothing and Rose very little of the outside world and they began to feel quite excited at the prospect of visiting Bilbo about whom they had only ever heard stories. 

“Bilbo went on an adventure with you, Thorin,” said Rose, her eyes bright and shining, “and now perhaps we can go on one too. Perhaps we can fight with trolls and take their treasure.”

“And visit Elrond and see the place where I was born,”added Arion.

“And visit Beorn and watch him change shape,” shouted Rose.

“And fight with giant spiders,” yelled Arion, jumping across the room and brandishing his wooden sword.

“And meet Thranduil in Mirkwood where you were a captain of the guard, Tauriel, and see the place where you shut up Thorin in a dungeon.”

“And travel down the river in barrels to Lake Town!” hollered Arion on a grand flourish.

“Perhaps,” said Thorin.

.o00o. 

Well, there was no perhaps about it. They had to leave and leave soon; and so, within 24 hours, they were heading out of Ered Luin and on their way to The Shire. They left their keys with Dis and she said that she would arrange for the repairs to take place at the forge so that they had somewhere decent to come home to. She would also organise the delivery of Thorin’s commissions. They only took two horses because Arion and Rose were not, as yet, competent riders, especially over the long distances that they would have to travel. The children took turns riding with Tauriel and Thorin whilst Dog came trotting behind.

Bilbo’s face expressed feelings beyond delight when he opened the door to them. He was particularly thrilled to see the children. “He must be mad,” said Thorin as Bilbo bustled happily around in the kitchen, getting together sandwiches, tea and cake. “Once he knows what our two are like, he’ll regret letting them even over his threshold.”

But Bilbo hit it off with Arion and Rose straight away. His relaxed and genial manner, his exciting stories about the great adventure that he had gone on with Thorin, the pleasure that he seemed to take in their company and his wonderful home all contributed to make him the best person the children had ever met.

“And was the dragon the most frightingest dragon you had ever seen?” asked Arion, wide-eyed with excitement and stuffing the second slice of cake down his throat.

“Oh, definitely the most frightingest,” replied Bilbo with equanimity. “In fact, he was the ONLY dragon I had ever seen.”

“Oh, I would love to meet a dragon!” the little boy breathed. “I would fight him and kill him with my sword!” And he waved around the little wooden sword that Rose had stolen for him in the market place.

“But, the only way to kill a dragon,” put in Thorin, “is to find the secret, unarmoured place, like Bilbo did. We couldn’t have killed Smaug without him.” And, suddenly, the children had a new hero and Thorin wondered if he had been too generous in his praise. For the whole time that they were there, it was “Bilbo this” and “Bilbo that”. They ran around after him begging for stories about his adventure and, whenever Thorin tried to make a contribution, they would just say in a bored voice: “Oh, we already know that. You told us that before.”

Thorin felt quite upset. “I’m not their hero any more,” he sighed to Tauriel, as they lay in bed together.

“Don’t be silly,” said Tauriel. “You’ll always be their hero. It’s just that their world is opening up for them. They’ll be meeting a lot of people to admire on this trip and you won’t hear the last of them. Can you imagine how amazed they’ll be when they meet Beorn?” She rested her chin on his chest and ran her hands slowly down his plaits, looking up at him seductively. “But you’ll always be my hero, Thorin,” she said in a throaty whisper. And then she kissed his muscled shoulder and caressed his face and showed him how much she appreciated his heroic qualities.

.o00o. 

PT II

They all spent a wonderful three weeks with Bilbo. The children and Dog enjoyed running around Hobbiton, playing with the hobbit children and trying hard to keep out of mischief. They adored Bag End with its child-sized rooms and quaint appearance. Even Thorin liked being in the house because it was built into a hill and felt quite dwarven. Tauriel loved wandering around the village, admiring the trees and the gardens full of flowers and vegetables and fruit. “You’ll have to make me a vegetable patch when we get home,” she told Thorin.

But, in the end, they decided to move on towards Mirkwood, perhaps even the town of Dale. “We’ll see you on the way back, Bilbo,” said Tauriel. And the little hobbit didn’t seem too aghast at the thought.

Their next stop was Rivendell. They ambled along at a steady pace and the children were full of excitement when, on the way, they had a picnic in a leafy glade where the three trolls had been turned to stone. There they still were, although now looking not half as fearsome as they had been in real life, particularly since birds were nesting behind their ears.

“Tell us, Thorin, what Gandalf said as the dawn came,” remarked Rose for the fiftieth time.

“Yes, but first tell us how the trolls wanted to eat you all,” said Arion gleefully. “And don’t forget to do all the voices!” 

So, Thorin told the story once more and did all the voices. “And then Gandalf shouted: ‘Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!’ And they turned into stone. We were rescued just in the nick of time.”

“Didn’t you ever do any rescuing on this adventure, Thorin?” asked Rose, as if doubting his heroic qualities once more.

“Of course he did,” put in Tauriel quickly. “Lots of times.” But Thorin saw the dubious look in their eyes.

When they reached Rivendell, Elrond greeted them with joy. He was delighted to see Arion who had been so beautiful at birth and was still an exceptionally lovely child. “Just like your father,” he said, picking up the boy and grinning at Thorin. He understood more than most in Middle-earth what it was like to belong neither to one race nor another and he was delighted that this child of mixed race looked set fair to be an admirable example of the union. He was also pleased to meet Rose. “She could almost be your daughter, you know,” he said. “Not that I’m implying anything, mind you.”

“I know you’re not,” said Thorin. “But, let me tell you, when I first met Rose and Tauriel said something like that, I was really annoyed. Now I’m more than happy to claim her as my own.”

“Because no-one else will claim me,” said the cheeky Rose, who had overheard the conversation. And she looked quite pleased to be claimed by Thorin.

The children were very, very well-behaved in Rivendell. Perhaps it was because the elves were so kind to them or perhaps they were in awe of Elrond or perhaps it was the special, magical atmosphere there. “Do you know,” said Tauriel, “I wonder if my pregnancy was successful because I spent most of it here? There is such a peace and time passes in such a strange way. We’ve been here more than a week and yet it only seems like a day or two. It certainly didn’t feel as if I waited a year for you when I was pregnant with Arion.”

“It felt like a hundred years to me,” said Thorin, turning towards her on the pillow and kissing the tips of her fingers.

“Well, I could say,” laughed Tauriel, “’and whose fault is that?’ But I’ll be kind and I won’t.”

“Yes,” growled Thorin, wriggling in closer to her. “Please be kind to me. I really feel like a lot of kindness at this precise moment.” And he gave her his little boy look that she couldn’t resist. 

Rose and Arion loved the place even more than Bag End. They spent most of their time with the elves who told them stories of Middle-earth from the first and second age; they sang them beautiful songs and recited delightful poetry to them. Arion discovered his elven side and felt very comfortable there but so did Rose. “I fink I could be an elf,” she said, twirling around in a pretty dress that she had been given. “I like livin’ in trees and I like their stories and songs.”

She disappeared off with Elrond every afternoon. “Don’t you want to come on a picnic with me?” asked Thorin.

“No,” she said, “I’m doin’ somefink – something – much more important.”

“And what’s more important than coming out and having fun and food with me?” Thorin wheedled.

“Elrond’s teaching me to read and write and speak proper – properly – just like wot ‘e does,” she replied. And the posh accent that she adopted in imitation of Elrond meant that she no longer sounded like Rose to him. “I could have done that,” he said grumpily. Rose lifted a doubting eyebrow.

But, the days passed in a delightful blur and Thorin and Tauriel had not been so happy in a long time. They spent many hours walking together, hand in hand, sometimes amid the trees and flowers and sunshine and sometimes in the purple twilight just as the stars started to glitter in the sky. Under a full moon, they stood on a bridge that spanned a silvery stream and Thorin held her hands to his breast and looked into her eyes. “I think I have fallen in love with you all over again,” he said.

“Oh dear,” she teased gently. “Does that mean that you had fallen OUT of love with me?”

“No,” he said, brushing his lips tenderly across hers. “It means that every morning when I wake up and see you lying next to me on the pillow, I can’t believe that you are there. And every night when I go to bed, I think I cannot love you any more than I do at that moment, but every morning, I find out differently.” His mouth covered hers and his arms slid around her and held her tightly to his breast. “Never leave me,” he said.

“Never, my love,” she breathed, winding her fingers tightly in his dark hair. 

.o00o. 

“Well,” said Elrond after nearly a month as he got ready to say goodbye to them all, “has the exiled dwarf in exile enjoyed his stay?”

“Definitely,” said Thorin. “It’s been a good excuse for a holiday really. Bring on Beorn and Mirkwood!”

“Yay!! Beorn!!” cheered Rose and Arion. And if excitement could make small children burst, they would have burst.

They crossed the Misty Mountains with no mist or unwanted storms to hinder them at all. The good weather held and the views from the higher slopes, looking behind them to The Shire and before them to Mirkwood, Erebor and beyond, were spectacular. They came down into the valleys, crossed a ford and finally came to a grove of oak trees. There were flowers everywhere as if planted rather than growing naturally and, at last, they knew they were in Beorn’s domain. The children were intrigued to see large bee-hives everywhere and Dog was pleased when a group of friendly grey dogs came running to greet him. And, there, at last, was Beorn’s large wooden house and there was Beorn sitting on his terrace.

“Tell us more about Beorn,” they had asked Thorin as they rode over the mountains. “What’s a shape-shifter?”

“Well, he’s also called a skin-changer,” responded Thorin, “because he can change the way he looks. He is a huge man – just you wait till you see him – and he changes into a giant black bear. Don’t you go playing your tricks on him because he has a bear’s temper and he loses it very quickly and then you’ll be sorry.”

“More bad-tempered than you?” Rose asked in amazement. “I don’t believe that.” And she giggled.

“I was glad of that temper at the Battle of the Five Armies,” continued Thorin. “He rescued me from the battlefield and his ferocity and fury helped rout the goblin army.”

“So, you were rescued again,” said Rose. 

Thorin didn’t answer.

Beorn stood up from his terrace and the children gawped as he towered above them. He greeted them heartily, invited them in and provided the weary travellers with food and drink. But, they only stayed for a few days. There was something amazing but also strange about Beorn. Rose and Arion sat in silent awe most of the time and everyone felt that they had to be careful what they said in case they gave offence. But Beorn was genuinely pleased to see Tauriel and Thorin once more, to meet their children and to hear all the news that they brought with them from the West. When he heard about the orc raids and how Thorin was tackling them, he nodded and grunted in agreement but the children lay awake at night listening to the bear-man snuffling about the house and they found it all quite frightening.

It was with a certain relief that they waved goodbye to him and set out on the last stage of their journey along the protected elf-road that led through the forest of Mirkwood to the elf-king’s palace.

.o00o.  
PT III 

They felt safe on the elf-made path that ran through Mirkwood. It was protected by elven spells from the dangerous, giant spiders that lurked in the forest. They caught brief glimpses of these creatures flitting between the trees and those glimpses were close enough.

“Yuck!” said Arion. “You and the other dwarves were almost killed by them, weren’t you, father?”

“But then Tauriel came along and saved them from starvation and death,” added Rose.

“Well,” grunted Thorin in a slightly annoyed voice, “I wouldn’t say she exactly saved me, not when Thranduil intended to throw me into his dungeons for a hundred years.”

They were all bedding down for the night on the elf-road and Tauriel reached over to him and patted his arm.

“But, just think,” she said cajolingly, recognising the grumpy tone that was beginning to appear in his voice, “if it hadn’t been for that, I might never have fallen in love with you.”

“Oh, yes,” said Rose sleepily, “tell us again how you first met at the forge, Tauriel, and how you chained Thorin up to that pillar and left him there. I like that one.”

Thorin didn’t. He pulled his cloak up to his ears and tried to block out the children’s giggles as Tauriel told her tale.

.o00o. 

When they approached the gates of Thranduil’s palace the next day, the guards recognised Thorin and Tauriel at once and they were escorted to the elven king’s apartments. Thranduil swept across the room and, clasping Tauriel in his arms, firmly kissed her on the mouth.

“Why is that man kissing my mummy like that?” whispered Arion to Thorin.

Thorin’s fists tightened and his knuckles whitened but he replied calmly: “Because that’s what the Mirkwood elves do, Arion.”

“Bit of a funny old goin’-on, if you ask me,” muttered Rose.

“Well, no-one did ask you,” said Thorin tersely. But he derived some small satisfaction from the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one to be annoyed by Thranduil’s behaviour.

Then Thranduil turned to Thorin. “Good to see you,” he said, grasping Thorin by the shoulders, “even if you have stolen my favourite lady away from me.” And his eyes twinkled. “And who is this?” he asked bending down and smiling at Arion. “You must be Tauriel’s son and what a fine-looking young man you are!” And then he turned to Rose. “Ah, the beautiful Rose. Tauriel has told me all about you.” And he bent over her hand and kissed it. For the first time in her life, Rose blushed. She wasn’t quite sure that she liked all this courtly flattery and hand-kissing stuff.

There followed a brief argument. They were offered rooms in the caves (Thorin’s choice) or in the trees (everyone else’s). Thorin was outnumbered and Thranduil showed them to a beautiful tree-house overlooking the river. Dog sat on the gound beneath, looking up at them pathetically, having no skill in climbing rope ladders. You’ll have to winch him up and down in the supplies basket,” laughed Thranduil and the children spent the next hour practising this, much to the animal’s long-suffering displeasure.

That evening, when they ate in the Great Hall, they were the centre of attention. The elves were pleased to see Tauriel back again, particularly the men who had been in Thranduil’s guard when she had been their captain; they wondered at the beauty of Arion and wondered even more that his father was a dwarf; they were kind to and interested in Rose; and looked warily at Thorin whom they had fought alongside in battle but whom they were having trouble accepting as Tauriel’s husband. When he saw their looks, Thorin sighed to himself. Not again, he thought. Would it always be a struggle to find acceptance?

After the food, there was some entertainment – singing, poetry, story-telling and dancing. Thranduil turned to Tauriel and asked: “Would you dance for us, Tauriel? It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.” Tauriel smiled and went over to the musicians to consult with them. Then some of the candles and torches were extinguished so that the hall flickered in a mysterious semi-darkness, the harpists touched their strings and Tauriel began to dance.

Neither Thorin nor the children had seen Tauriel dance before. She seemed to float around the room; her hair moved in a shining mass about her shoulders, her beautiful dress wrapping itself around her at one moment then drifting free at another; her arms moved sinuously and her body curved and twisted to the exquisite music. She was like a tree blowing in the wind, thought Thorin. Her execution was delicate and flawless and, when the dance finally came to an end, Thorin realised that he was holding his breath. He let it out with a long sigh and the room applauded.

“Cor!” said Rose, her eyes alight.

“I didn’t know my mummy could do that,” said Arion.

“Neither did I,” murmured Thorin.

Thranduil led her to a seat as the feast broke up and people began to move around the room. “That was truly lovely, Tauriel, “he said. “Thank you.” He glanced over at Thorin who was now drinking and glowering in a corner. “I’d give you a kiss again,” he said with a grin, “but your husband is still finding some things difficult to stomach.”

“Yes,” sighed Tauriel, “but it is the jealousy of dwarves. He has certainly tried hard these past few years, but he still sometimes sees me as his possession that he needs to guard from other men. It was only a few months ago that he got into a fight with Lostwithiel.”

“No!” laughed Thranduil. “Poor Lostwithiel! I would give anything to have seen that!” But then he became more serious. “You know I was just teasing him a little that night of my feast at the Grey Havens,” the elf king said. “But it all ended in disaster and you nearly lost the father of your child. I am sorry for the pain that I caused you both.” He glanced at Thorin again. “Perhaps I should keep away from you so as not to cause any more trouble.”

Tauriel studied her hands for a moment. “It wasn’t your teasing but Thorin’s uncontrollable jealousy that caused the pain,” she said. “Unless he learns to face it and then cope with it, there is always a chance that a disaster will happen again. He wants us to change our elven culture and behaviour so that he doesn’t have to deal with things. I can’t help but think we should continue as normal and I shall help Thorin handle the situation when and if the need arises. He talks to me so much more now.”

“Ah well, in that case,” said Thranduil, “I shall give in to my elven culture.” And he leant forward and kissed her gently on the lips.

On the other side of the room, Thorin, Rose and Arion all glared in a disapproving way from under three sets of black brows.

That night, Thorin and Tauriel lay in bed in their tree house. The wind was blowing and the whole room was swaying. Thorin gripped hold of the mattress. Tree houses were unnatural in his opinion.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” asked Tauriel.

“I enjoyed your dancing,” said Thorin pointedly, turning to hold onto his wife rather than the mattress. “You were stunning. You’ll have to give me a private performance when we get home.” 

“And how did you feel about Thranduil kissing me?” Tauriel pursued. “Was it easier this time, knowing that he isn’t my lover?”

“I was fine with it,” said Thorin airily, lying in his teeth. “But, I think the children were a little unhappy.”

“Really?” said Tauriel but she felt content enough with his response.

Thorin felt the need to get away from Mirkwood.

.o00o. 

The next morning, Thorin took Arion down to a shallow pool by the side of the river. “I shall teach you how to swim,” he said, and Arion looked pleased. “He’s making good progress,” he told Tauriel when they came home later. And Thorin also thought how much pleasure it had given him to be alone with Arion, showing him how to do important things.

That evening, he was feeling in a much better mood and tried to enjoy the elven food and entertainment. As everyone left the table and floated to different corners of the room, the great doors of the Hall were suddenly swung back and a group of athletic-looking young elves entered the Hall. Soldiers, by the way they carry themselves, thought Thorin. And they reminded him of Tauriel’s outfit back up in the hills of Ered Luin. The leader of the group was strikingly handsome and he swept across the room towards Thranduil. “Father!” he said, taking the elf king in a bear hug and kissing him.

“Legolas!” exclaimed Thranduil in delight. “I didn’t expect to see you for a few days yet.”

“We’ve just been relieved,” said Legolas. “And we’ve run out of spiders and goblins to kill.” The courtiers gathered around him, eager for news and laughing. He looked up and glanced about him, suddenly seeing Tauriel smiling on the fringes of the room. “Tauriel!” he cried in delight. And the young elf lord made his way swiftly towards her. He seized her hands then flung his arms around her, lifting and whirling her around and kissing her soundly.

On the mouth, of course, thought Thorin. And the jealous spasm that ran through him was almost beyond his control. Tauriel’s eyes were shining and she pulled Legolas over towards her family, her arm tightly entwined around his waist. “This is Legolas!” she said in an excited voice.

“So I gathered,” said Thorin and his voice was cold and dry. The elf lord noticed both his tone and his look. He stepped forward so that Tauriel’s grip dropped from his waist and said calmly: “She was nearly my mother, you know. She was so kind to me when I was a child after my own mother died and I always hoped that she and my father would get married.” He turned towards her and took her gently by both hands again. “After my father, she is the most important person to me on Middle-earth.” And he bent over her hands in a graceful bow and then returned to his companions. With bright eyes and a quick word of excuse, Tauriel followed him.

“Well,” said Arion grumpily, “I don’t kiss my mother like that.”

“And she’s OUR mother, not his,” added Rose sourly.

Thorin tried to rationalise things. Although Legolas and Tauriel looked the same age, she must be hundreds of years older and would remember him as a child. He probably still seemed like a child to her and she must have many happy memories – and sad ones – from that time when she had helped to look after him. Yes, he was only a little lad to her and that’s the way she treated him and felt about him.

But, said the other voice in his head, she’s hundreds of years older than you, too, and does she treat you like a little lad? Absolutely not!

And Thorin struggled manfully with these opposing voices – and he wasn’t helped by the jealous complaining of the children. But, he did his best and tried to explain to them in rational tones what Legolas must mean to Tauriel and what Tauriel must mean to Legolas. He seemed to have made some headway when he saw them both chatting, apparently quite amiably, to the handsome elf later in the evening and he even managed to exchange a civil word or two with him himself. 

.o00o. 

PT IV

By the time they got up the next morning, Thorin and Tauriel found that the children were already winching Dog down to the ground. “We’re going out with the elves,” they said. “We shan’t be back until late this afternoon.”

“What about your swimming lesson, Arion?” Thorin called down to him.

“Oh, another time,” he called back and scampered off.

“Well, goodness,” said Tauriel, “a whole day to ourselves. What shall we do?” And she raised a suggestive eyebrow.

“Hmmm, you’ve really got me stumped there,” he murmured in his deep, velvety voice. “But, how about a lie-in and a late breakfast for starters whilst we think about it?” And he pulled her to him and kissed her. 

And, as he hauled up the rope ladder, he had to admit to himself that perhaps there were some advantages to living in a tree.

Tauriel and Thorin enjoyed their day although they occasionally stopped to wonder what the children were up to. Rose and Arion were also obviously having a good time too because they didn’t get home until early evening when it was nearly time to eat.

“Goodness!” said Tauriel. “Where have you two been? I was just about to send out a search party.” The children were excited, dirty and dishevelled. “We’ve been with Legolas,” said Rose, and her eyes sparkled.

Thorin’s head snapped up. “With Legolas? But I didn’t think you liked him.”

“Oh, we like him now,” said Arion. “I even wish he WERE my big brother because he’s so much fun.”

“Yes,” said Rose, “we spent all morning with him learning to ride a horse and all afternoon learning to shoot a bow – and they’ve loaned us these long, elven bows.” 

“Much nicer than those short, stumpy dwarven bows like you use,” added Arion. Thorin felt hurt and he didn’t know quite why. Was it because Arion was rejecting the dwarf bow in favour of the elf one and did this signify a rejection of the whole side of him that was dwarven? Was it because he had already taught Rose and Arion the basics of horse-riding and they were dismissing his tuition out of hand? Or was it because Legolas was their teacher? He loomed large in their conversation and, when they went to eat in the Great Hall, both children were on the look-out for him and then ran to sit next to him when he made an appearance. Rose, in particular, seemed to gaze at him quite starry-eyed.

“I think,” said Tauriel, “watching in amusement, “that Rose is experiencing her first crush.”

“A crush? But she’s only nine!” exclaimed Thorin.

“Well, how old were you?” asked Tauriel. And Thorin remembered Kagris. But that only made him even angrier. 

For a whole week, the situation continued with both Legolas and his men spoiling the two children and making themselves heroes in their eyes. In the end, Thorin could stand it no longer. “I need a break,” he growled to Tauriel one evening. “Let’s visit Dale and the Lonely Mountain.....and let’s set off tomorrow.”

Dale had been utterly destroyed by Smaug but, since the death of the dragon, the town had been rebuilt by the dwarven masons and the men whilst Lake Town, which had gone up in flames during Smaug’s final rampage, was now largely abandoned. Both Tauriel and Thorin were skilled in the handling of boats, having grown up near water, and they decided to travel down-river and across the Lake to Dale using a boat as transport. There had been heavy rain on and off for some weeks now and the river was boiling. The children found that this river-trip proved to be the most exciting part of their adventure yet and soon Legolas and Mirkwood were forgotten and left far behind them.

When they emerged from the river and into the Long Lake, they could see that Lake Town was now merely a group of huts and shanties. They didn’t pause, but headed out for the far side of the great sheet of water towards Dale and the Lonely Mountain. The newly-built town impressed them all. It was constructed of white stone in the Numenorean style by the dwarven masons. There were squares and fountains and bell-towers and flowers everywhere. Dale was a great trading post at a crossroads of many races and cultures and Thorin and Tauriel were accepted without a single raised eyebrow. They rested comfortably there for a number of days, walking by the lake, exploring the streets, eating at the fine inns; and Thorin resumed his swimming lessons with Arion.

The only disturbing thing to happen was when a man recognised Thorin and called to his fellows: “Look! The true King under the Mountain has returned!” A crowd began to gather and the family quickly made their exit.

“I think,” said Thorin, “that I’d like to visit Dain and all my old companions and then we should return to Mirkwood before something blows up.”

They rented horses and made their way up the side of the Mountain to the Great Gate. The dwarves welcomed them with tremendous excitement and hospitality. The children wondered at the spectacular dwarven halls and at the huge jewel, the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain, set in a niche above Dain’s throne. Thorin remembered when this stone had meant more to him than anything on Middle-earth but, now, he realised that Tauriel and Arion and Rose were dearer to his heart than any lump of glittering mineral and that he would not exchange them for a thousand Arkenstones.

They feasted and drank and made merry that night and Arion discovered his dwarven side. They all laughed and jested and sang and they felt so much at home that they knew they would be sorry when they had to leave. But, after several days, Balin came to Thorin and Tauriel and said sadly: “You know that you have our love and we know that we have yours but, when you have given so much away, it is sometimes impossible to go back.” He paused for a moment and then said: “There is talk in the town and there are always fools who are prepared to make trouble.”

“I know,” sighed Thorin.

Balin patted him on the shoulder. “Well, if it is impossible for you to visit us, then we shall visit you.”

Thorin smiled and they all embraced and, the next day, they set out on horseback for Mirkwood after many sad partings. “I think I liked the Lonely Mountain best of all,” said Arion.

They had been away from Ered Luin for four months now and intended only to stay a few days in Mirkwood before setting off on the homeward journey. On the last night, Thranduil held a feast for them. Tauriel and Rose put on their prettiest dresses and received many fine compliments. Thorin decided that he was coping very well with all the attention that Tauriel was receiving, but then the musicians began to play and the dancing began. Many elf lords came forward to ask Tauriel if they could lead her into a dance and Thorin found himself drinking and glowering more and more. The children, too, became grumpier.

“Why don’t you dance with mummy?” Arion asked. 

“Because I can’t dance,” replied Thorin sullenly.

With relief, he heard the last dance of the evening announced. Legolas was consulting with the musicians and he then put his head together with his young company of men, glancing in Thorin’s direction as he did so. He came over and politely asked permission to take Tauriel onto the floor. It’ll soon be over, he thought to himself, and he watched moodily as Legolas led his wife forward to make up a long set. All the elves in Tauriel’s set were the handsome young lords who were soldiers in Legolas’ patrol group. All twenty of them formed a line and all their ladies faced them. The musicians struck up a pretty, tripping tune and they danced in pairs up and down the row. And then they changed partners. But before the change took place, they kissed their partners and moved on to the next.

Thorin sat bolt upright. During the course of the dance, after Tauriel had worked her way down the group and then back up again, she would have been kissed forty times. And those young lordlings were certainly entering into the spirit of the thing with enthusiasm. Could he handle this, he wondered? 

And then a number of things happened at once. Legolas looked across the room straight at him and he was laughing. He was being deliberately provocative, Thorin thought. And then Arion said, “I don’t like this dance.” And then Rose said: “If Tauriel was my wife, I wouldn’t be sitting ‘ere and just takin’ it.” And she stood up and said to Thorin: “So what you gonna do about it?”

And then Thorin stood up and cracked his knuckles.

The interesting thing was, it was Arion who led the fray. He scuttled across the room and kicked Tauriel’s current beau in the ankle and, as the elf lost his balance, Rose punched him in the stomach and, as he bent over, he came into contact with Thorin’s fist and sprawled on the floor. Suddenly, the hall was a mass of violent action. Arion darted around kicking every ankle he could find and Rose used her street-wise skills to startling effect and Thorin’s fist connected with every elven chin that came within hitting distance. By the time the music had ground to a halt, twenty elf lords, including Legolas, were prostrate and groaning. Thorin rubbed his bruised fists and looked very pleased with himself. Then he took Tauriel by one hand and Rose took the other and Arion held onto her skirt. “Come on,” he said. “I think we’ve still got some packing to do.”

Back in the tree house, Tauriel tried to look severe but burst out laughing. “Oh, you three did take them by surprise,” she said. “And perhaps they deserved it for teasing you.”

But Thorin and the children weren’t so easily pacified. “Tauriel,” he said, “ever since I met you, I have been trying to understand elven ways and I have been trying to change my nature in order to fit in with them. But when,” he continued angrily, “are you going to understand dwarven ways and come at least half-way to meet me? I just feel that you and Thranduil and Legolas – in fact, every damn elf in this place – have been going out of their way to push me to my limit – and beyond.” 

Arion and Rose glared at her. “Sometimes, if you’re a dwarf,” said Arion, with pride in his origins, “you just want to sort things out by giving them a punch on the nose.” And he bunched his little fist.

“Yeah! I agree,” said Rose. “And I’m not even a dwarf!”

Thorin took Tauriel’s face between his hands and said: “Don’t you love me enough to give me just a bit of leeway?” 

At this, Rose and Arion flung their arms around his waist and cried: “We love you! We love you!”

And Tauriel took him gently by his plaits and said: “And I love you too and I’m very, very sorry.” And then they kissed and the children cheered.

.o00o. 

The next day, Thranduil came to bid them farewell. He apologised, too, with a wry grin. “You three certainly are a force to be reckoned with,” he said, looking with amusement at Thorin and the children. “You managed to lay low a crack team and they’re still groaning this morning.”

He accompanied them to their horses and then he clapped Thorin on the shoulder, kissed the children on their foreheads, patted Dog on the head and moved towards Tauriel.

“No kissing,” snarled Thorin.

“As if I would,” smiled Thranduil. And he put his arms around her and gave her a most chaste hug.

.o00o.

Next story: Thorin has a Think. Actually, he has more of a brood – all the way home to Ered Luin, LOL! That dwarf really shouldn’t think so much. Will they get back home in one piece and will things be different when they get there?


	11. Thorin Has A Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and his family return home to Ered Luin at last. What will they find when they get there? Has Thorin changed in any way? Does he see things differently and is it time for a bit of a brood, LOL?

Thorin Has A Think  
Pt I

There were still two months left of their exile when Thorin Oakenshield and his family set out for Ered Luin and so they went at a gentle pace. It didn’t take them long to reach Beorn’s house on the far side of Mirkwood where they only stayed a couple of nights, but they all wondered why Thorin was huddled secretively in a corner with the giant shape-shifter during the evening.

“’Ere! What you two up to?” asked Rose curiously. 

“Aha!” said Thorin, laying his finger alongside his nose, but looking rather pleased with himself they all thought. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

And the next morning, they did, indeed, find out. Thorin had been negotiating with Beorn for a pair of his ponies. There was a blue roan for Arion and a grey for Rose. “It’s called a rose grey,” Thorin laughed. “Beorn thought it a suitable colour for you.”

The children wouldn’t have cared what colour the ponies were. They were so ecstatic that they went around starry-eyed all day. In the end, Beorn waved away all offers of payment. “When you grow out of them,” he growled, “I’ll exchange them for larger ones. Perhaps that will give you a reason to visit me again.” And the children climbed upon his lap and kissed and hugged him. Suddenly this giant of a man no longer seemed someone to be afraid of. Beorn, in the meanwhile, appeared very pleased with this show of gratitude and affection.

“Cupboard love,” grunted Thorin with amusement to Tauriel.

After his experience in Mirkwood, Thorin was determined that no-one else was going to teach his children how to ride. They ambled along at a slow enough pace with plenty of picnic stops so that the children didn’t get too tired or saddle-sore. They stopped regularly for riding instruction and also for practice with their new bows, yet another parting gift from Beorn. These were small and dwarven in style, accompanied by beautifully worked leather quivers which held a good stock of arrows. The children felt as though all their birthdays had come at once and they proudly carried their new weapons on their shoulders.

Now that they owned a dwarven bow each, the children suddenly did an about-face over their desirability. “The elven bows are long and difficult to carry,” said Arion.

“Yeah,” said Rose. “They may look good and they may shoot arrows a long way, but the dwarven bow is more accurate. It really packs a punch and I reckon that the arrows could pierce armour.”

Thorin gave a quiet and satisfied smile and Tauriel grinned when she saw it. 

And so they ambled along. The weather held and, as with their outward journey, they had no problems climbing over the Misty Mountains with the two little ponies putting up a very good showing. There had been a long debate about what their names should be and this had helped pass many, many miles. In the end, Arion insisted on calling his pony Blue. He was the one who had decided that they should call their dog Dog. 

“Not very imaginative,” said Thorin.

“But I like it,” said Arion.

“Fair enough,” said Thorin and so Blue it was.

Rose had a bit more difficulty and spent many a restless night tussling with a whole variety of names. In the end, she chose Little Beorn in memory of the giver.

“That’s a nice thought,” said Tauriel but Thorin snorted a bit.

“Well,” said Rose, “since Tauriel calls her horse Black Demon when you’re around and Thorin when you’re not, I don’t see why I can’t name my pony after someone I know too.” 

“Fair enough,” said Thorin again with a grin.

After a month, they were nearing Rivendell and Elrond’s Last Homely House. The children were excited to be seeing the elf-lord again and Thorin and Tauriel were looking forward to sleeping in a bed. 

Rose ran forward to meet the elf-lord. Because of the daily lessons she had had with him, she was closer to him than Arion. Thorin had no real desire to teach her reading and writing or how to talk “proper” and his other lessons made him content with his lot. “Elrond! Elrond!” cried Rose, as soon as she saw him approaching. “Come and ‘ave a look at our ponies.” He raised an eyebrow and she repeated: “Come and HAVE a look at our ponies.”

“Good,” said Elrond. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten everything while you’ve been away.”

Elrond dutifully admired the ponies and then they all sat down for food and a chat. They talked well into the night, until the children were fast asleep on their parents’ laps, and then they took them to their rooms.

“A proper bed at last!” sighed Tauriel as they sank beneath their own coverlets. They were in the lovely room where Thorin had found her after being separated for a year. It held many bittersweet memories for them both. He remembered the joy of their reunion and he remembered Arion being born there and he remembered the pain of his guilt for the way he had treated his beautiful elven wife. He drew in a breath with a shudder, thinking of how things might have been if Bilbo hadn’t visited and talked some sense into him. And then he let the breath out in a long sigh, drawing Tauriel tenderly towards him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

She ran her hands slowly down his plaits and looked questioningly into his eyes. “Sorry for what?” she asked with a smile. “Is there something you’re keeping from me?”

“Oh,” he sighed, “sorry for being a jealous dwarf, sorry for being stupid and bad-tempered, sorry for being me.”

She caressed his face gently. “Yes,” she said, “you are stupid: stupid for saying sorry for all the things that I love about you.” And she lowered her head and brushed her lips tantalisingly across his throat. He groaned and slipped his hand through her hair, pulling her mouth against his own. With exquisite sensitivity, his tongue slid between her lips, gently exploring and touching. He was so tentative, Tauriel thought, almost as if he expected rejection, as if he expected her to remember his cruelty to her and to push him away. She seized his plaits more tightly and kissed him back passionately so that he shuddered with desire. “Tauriel....” he whispered. She knew he was asking for her love but was too uncertain of himself to take it. How strange he was, how vulnerable. It was so easy to destroy his confidence and, in this room where so many painful and joyous things had taken place, Tauriel felt that she had to tread carefully. She ran her hands across his back feeling all the muscles rippling there.

“Thorin,” she said softly, “you’re so beautiful. Do you know how much I need you at this moment?” And she pressed herself against him and kissed his throat again. He let out an inarticulate cry and pulled her beneath him. His love-making that night was such a curious mixture of passionate giving and desperate taking that Tauriel felt confused as to how she should react to him. And so she just held him and kissed him and murmured her love in his ear until he finally fell asleep. But Tauriel lay awake for a long time afterwards wondering what more she could do to help her husband with the confusions and doubts about himself that so easily ran through his mind. 

The next morning, Thorin woke up early. Tauriel was nestled in his arms and he lay there, gazing out at the trees moving gently beyond the wide balcony window. He began to do the thing that he did worst of all: thinking. When they had stayed in this room on their outward journey, it had reminded him of all the wonderful things that had happened there during the six weeks surrounding Arion’s birth: their declaration of love, the birth of his son, their wedding night, Tauriel’s beauty and forgiveness. Now, after five months out in the wide world, mixing with hobbits, elves and men, he was seeing things in a different light.

He was so selfish, he thought. He had wanted Tauriel and he had taken her without any thought to the consequences. Since their exile, he had seen her in her own environment, both at Rivendell and Mirkwood, and he now realised just how much she had given up to be with him. He just couldn’t offer her the beauty, the elegant company, the excitement, the poetry, the music, nor any of the other things that were hers by right. What could he, in fact, offer her – or even the children – living as they did in isolation at his forge? It must be so boring for her with no other adult except himself to converse with – and what did he talk about except making farm equipment and swords? The lively, clever conversations of the elves that he had been a party to these past few months really made him aware of his inadequacies in the exchange of thoughts, opinions and feelings. No wonder she escaped once a week to be up at the outpost with her group of fellow elves.

And, what pain and trouble he had brought her ever since he had first met her. He went through every incident, torturing himself with every word he had said to her, every dreadful deed and misunderstanding that should never have happened because he was just so stupid. Even Tauriel called him a stupid dwarf. He had allowed his passion for her to get the better of him in Lake Town and he had slept with her that one time, only to reject her cruelly after she had saved his life during the great battle, sending her away, back to Mirkwood. Perhaps he should have held his ground at that point and not given into his lusts when she had come looking for him. Her life back in Mirkwood would have been a lot better than the one he offered her at the forge. But, no, he had been selfish again without giving any thought at all to the problems he might be creating for her.

Then he had misinterpreted everything he saw, both at Thranduil’s court and at the Grey Havens and this had led him to do the most appalling thing of all – he could hardly bear to think of it! He had made love to her not only as a punishment but also because he had found it almost impossible to let her go. And afterwards, what cruel words he had uttered as he had marched out the door of the forge, flinging their betrothal rings into the flames as he went. He could scarcely believe what he had done, even now. He had imagined her living in Mirkwood with Thranduil, tormenting himself with thoughts of them together for nearly a year. A year! If it hadn’t been for a casual conversation with his sister or a timely visit from Bilbo, he would never have known that she was, in fact, in Rivendell and pregnant with his child.

He sighed. If he had been in Tauriel’s place, he would never have forgiven him but would have shown him the door. She should have done, he thought. But she HAD forgiven him and had married him and brought him back into her life. Perhaps she should have returned cruelty for cruelty and sent him away to brood on his sins alone at the forge. Instead, she had wrapped him in her love and, in doing so, had let him off the hook. He had tried not to think about this but had, instead, blanked it all out as he busied himself with building a life for his family.

Their marriage had brought much condemnation from the wider community. Why hadn’t he thought that this would happen? Probably because he hadn’t wanted to think about it. If he had, then surely he wouldn’t have gone through with it, subjecting, as it did, his wife to so much harassment? She was the one who had borne the brunt of the animosity and, half the time, he had known nothing about it because she had been trying to protect him. She had been insulted and threatened by both dwarves and elves and a gang had even tried to murder their son as an “abomination”. She had been rejected by her own community and one of her own soldiers at the outpost had sexually assaulted her because their marriage had somehow set her apart and made her fair game.

And all he did was create problems for her. He had tolerated a woman in his home whom he knew to be a trouble-maker instead of throwing her out straight away; and this had eventually caused Tauriel considerable pain, a pain which he knew was still with her. And he had brawled in their home, smashing it to pieces in his arrogant search for revenge without giving her opinions due consideration. And then, only a few weeks ago, he had been involved in yet another fight, beating up Tauriel’s elven friends, even the one she regarded as a son. What an example he had been to his children, even involving them in the free-for-all. He was a terrible father as well as being a terrible husband and they would all be better off without him.

And perhaps the worst, he finally thought, the very, very worst, was the fact that he would die and leave her all on her own, to live her immortal life without him there to look after her. She really should have married another elf.

It was with all these thoughts crowding his mind that Thorin finally got up and faced a new day.

.o00o. 

Pt II

They spent two weeks with Elrond. The children loved it there and enjoyed riding up and down the valley on their ponies and demonstrating to the elves the superiority of dwarven bows. Tauriel thought that Thorin seemed very quiet and, when he became quiet, it always bothered her.

“Talk to me!” she commanded one night as they lay in bed together.

“What about?” he asked and he ran his finger down her beautiful face.

“Talk about why you’re suddenly very quiet and why we’ve hardly made love these past couple of weeks.” And her eyes searched his face for the truth.

Thorin sighed. “I can’t tell you how tired I am, Tauriel,” he said. “You may find it relaxing to be amongst elves but I find it quite stressful.” And he kissed her gently on the lips. I’m a good liar, he thought.

Tauriel gave him a suspicious look. “And is that all?” she said.

“No,” he said. “It’s just one thing among several. We’ve travelled a long way for more than five months now and I’ve only been in the company of my own kind for a few days in all that time. I found Mirkwood even more stressful than I do Rivendell. All that kissing.” And he grinned and kissed her tenderly on the lips again.

“Is there more?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m worried about going home and I’m afraid of what we might find. The orcs could have burned the house to the ground, for all we know. The closer we get, the more I find myself thinking about it.” Half-truths, he thought, but they seemed to satisfy Tauriel. 

He made love to her that night to allay suspicion and it was wonderful. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to make love to her – he was desperate to do so and seemed to spend far too many of his waking hours thinking about it. But, when he did make love to her, he was filled with guilt. It seemed to him that he was using her to satisfy his own desires instead of thinking about what he could do to make life right for her and the children. His thoughts had progressed to the point where he thought that, ultimately, his family would be better off staying in Rivendell or going back to Mirkwood without him but he couldn’t bring himself, as yet, to discuss it with her. Just one more day, he kept telling himself. Just one more day with her and then he would give her the opportunity to make the break from him. 

.o00o. 

In the end, they set out for Hobbiton without Thorin saying anything. By the time they arrived at Bag End, only a week remained of their exile. 

“Well, my goodness,” said Bilbo to the children. “Five of you set out and now seven of you have come back.” And he dutifully petted and admired Blue and Little Beorn. “What marvellous names!” he exclaimed when they told him what the ponies were called. “I can’t think of any name that would have suited them better!” And Arion and Rose gave Thorin a smug “I told you so” look.

Bilbo was delighted to look after them for a week but the seven days seemed to pass slowly for them all. Now that they were nearly there, they were straining at the leash to get home to Ered Luin. At last, the day of their departure arrived. There was much hugging and kissing with sugar-lumps for the ponies and biscuits for Dog; and then they were off.

Within a day, they had crossed the borders and reached the byway that led off the main road to the dwarven halls. “There it is! There it is!” shouted Arion excitedly as the homesteads and cottages and the caves hove into view. Dog barked and they all laughed and pointed; they couldn’t wait to see Dis’ face.

And there she was, looking solid and homely and welcoming. The children jumped from their ponies and flung themselves at her. “My goodness!” she said. “How you’ve grown!” And there were tears in her eyes. Arion and Rose ran into and around the house, exclaiming because it was all there, just as they had left it. It seemed a wonder and a reassurance to them because there had been so many changes in their lives in the previous six months.

“How have things been?” asked Thorin as they all sat down to supper.

“Pretty quiet,” said Dis. “There have been no more orc raids and your men, Tauriel, are doing a good job of keeping us all safe. Lostwithiel has managed well without you.... But they’ve all missed you,” she added, patting Tauriel’s hand, just in case the elf thought they were all managing a bit too well without her.

“And what about the forge?” continued Thorin.

“Well, brother, first of all, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve got a whole list of commissions for you from the Grey Havens. They’re such admirers of your work that they’re quite happy to wait.”

“And the house?” asked Tauriel.

Dis looked pleased with herself. “I got the carpenters and the masons onto the repairs and the extension as soon as you left. They’ve done a fine job. I know you’ll be delighted with it. And you just wait until you see your new bedroom, Rose! Such a pretty room!”

Tauriel touched her husband’s arm. “Thorin has been really worried that the whole place would be burned down by orcs,” she said.

“Well, I’ve done my best,” Dis responded. “I’ve got everyone from the settlement who has passed by the forge on their way to and from the Grey Havens to give it a quick look and report back to me when they’ve come home. It was last reported on three days ago and it was still standing then.”

The children gave a cheer and they all went to bed. Thorin made love to Tauriel that night and he wondered how many more times it would happen before she finally left him. Once they had got back to the forge, then he would talk to her.

.o00o. 

They stocked up at the settlement, waved cheerily goodbye to Dis and then set off at last for home. They sang as they rode and the children argued over which pony should go in which stable. They clattered excitedly into the yard and dismounted from their horses. All the windows were shuttered but Rose suddenly clutched Tauriel by the arm and pointed upward. Thorin froze. There was smoke coming out of the chimney! He drew his sword and silently approached the house whilst Tauriel held her children to her. But, before he could come within reach of the door, the arrow slits in both of the windows snapped back and arrow heads emerged, both pointing at him.

“Put down your weapon!” snarled a voice. And he did so. There was a grating of metal as the bars on the door were pulled and a thickset man appeared with a long-handled axe in his hand.

“Who are you?” growled Thorin. “And what are you doing in my home?”

“Ah,” said the man. “The owner returns, does ‘e? Well, it ain’t your ‘ome no more because me and me mates ‘ave requisitioned it, so to speak. So you can just bugger off and find somewhere else to lay yer ‘ead.”

Tauriel stepped forward then. “But you can’t just take it,” she gasped. “It’s our home. What right do you have to it?”

“The right o’ force,” the man grinned. “I saw it, I took it and I’m a-keepin’ of it.”

“What if the soldiers come and tell you otherwise?” asked Thorin grimly.

“Oh, they can come if they like. But a right little fortress this is. ‘Ow many of yer soldier friends d’ye think it’s worth losing afore yer could wrest this’un off me, now?” And the squatter laughed because he had assessed his man and knew that he would not think that bricks and mortar were worth even one life. “Now get those children out of ‘ere afore they get hurt.” And he turned to shut the door.

Suddenly, Rose pushed away from the shelter of Tauriel’s arms and stepped forward yelling: “Jim Widgery! It’s you, ain’t it? What a surprise!” And she stood there grinning at him. 

The man stopped in his tracks and then raised his eyebrows in recognition. Thorin just stood there, warily watching the scene unfolding in front of him.

“My, if it ain’t our little Rose,” the man chuckled. “What you doin’ ‘ere?”

“Thought I’d found meself a decent pad, didn’t I,” said Rose, sauntering up to the front door. “But looks like I’ve lost it now.” And she grinned and gestured towards him.

“Well, looks like you just ‘ave,” grinned the man in response. “And where’s yer dad, then?”

“Taken by Corsair pirates,” she said, “and this ’ere smith and ‘is wife felt sorry for me and took me in. Any of me mates along wiv you inside, then?”

“Yeah, Bill Barnes and Marty White,” and he gestured to the arrow slits. “You remember them, don’t yer, Rose?”

“O’ course,” she said, “and I wouldn’t mind seein’ ‘em again.” And with that, she stepped forward as if to enter the house. But the man held out his hand to stop her.

“Oi, and what about these ‘ere noo friends yer got?” he asked. “Don’t you go expectin’ me to entertain them as well.” And he grinned widely, showing a row of rotten teeth.

Rose shrugged. “They ain’t no friends o’mine,” she said. “They’re just people I was livin’ wiv as I was passin’ through. Earned me keep too. They kept me cookin’and cleanin’ and lookin’ after their kid all day long. Time I moved on, I fink.”

The man stood to one side and bowed for her to enter.

“Rose!” said Thorin sharply, stepping forward as if to stop her. But the man lifted his axe and pointed it at his chest threateningly so that Thorin raised his hands in surrender and stepped back again.

“Rose!” shouted Tauriel. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Lookin’ after me own interests,” said Rose as she entered the house.

“You said it, girl,” laughed the man and he shut and bolted the door behind him.

.o00o. 

Pt III

Tauriel stood there with her mouth open and Arion started to cry. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “I just can’t believe that she’s walked out on us.” And she started to cry too.

Thorin put his arm around her and Arion clung to him. “Of course she hasn’t walked out on us,” he said firmly. “Surely you know your own daughter by now? She’s up to something. And I just hope that those men don’t work that out too quickly.”

But there was nothing he could do for the moment except wait. And so they withdrew to the trees to see what plan Rose intended to put into action, ready to rush to her aid when the moment came.

Jim, meanwhile, was locking and barring the door while Bill and Marty shut the arrow slits. “Great to see you, Rose,” said Bill. “It’s bin a long time.” These men had often worked with her father when they were up to no good. And children were always useful in a gang of thieves and ruffians. They remembered how really effective Rose had been, wriggling through small widows when they were breaking into a house and distracting people by looking sweet and pathetic when they were picking pockets. And she always attracted a lot of money from tender-hearted, charitable townsfolk when she was set to beg in the street. So, now, they welcomed her back into the fold. But, while they clapped her on the shoulder and patted her head, they were already thinking of her uses.

“Lookin’ good, Rose,” said Marty. “And he scarcely recognised her. She was wearing boy’s riding gear but her hair was very pretty and she had lost her previous skinny, waif-like look.

“Yeah,” said Jim. “But she’ll ‘ave to lose some weight if she wants to look pathetic and ‘alf-starved. That allus appeals to the soft-‘earted.”

“Well,” said Rose, “I’ll do the cookin’ and I’ll eat ‘alf portions. Where are the provisions and I can start now.”

It was nearly time for the evening meal and they remembered how useful it was to have a girl about the place. They always seemed to know about stuff like cooking. And so they showed her where they had stashed the food and Rose started preparations whilst Jim, Bill and Marty sat at their ease and drank the beer they had brought with them.

Rose bustled about. Tauriel’s cooking lessons now served her well and she managed to throw together something quite tasty. As she served it up in the Hall, she looked scornfully at their mugs of beer. “What’s that muck you’re drinkin’,” she asked. “Aven’t you found the wine cellar yet?”

“Wine cellar? What wine cellar?” Jim asked and their eyes brightened.

She pulled back the big rug in the centre of the room to disclose a cunningly disguised trap-door.

“This wine-cellar,” she said.

Marty descended the ladder and re-emerged with half a dozen bottles of wine. “There’s some good stuff down there,” he said. And they immediately set to, drinking straight from the bottle.

Good, thought Rose. He’s chosen some pretty potent varieties there.

They got through the six bottles quickly and Marty descended into the cellar again, although rather more unsteadily this time. Rose’s food lay forgotten and cold on the plates. And, after another round, Jim and Bill were out cold, snoring and sprawled across the table. “Go and get us anuvver bottle,” said Marty blearily.

“Sorry, Marty,” replied Rose. “I’ve always been frightened of that cellar. But, I’ll help you out when you’re ready.”

And so, Marty climbed down and began fumbling about in the semi-darkness. At which, Rose slammed shut the cellar door and shot the big bolt. Ignoring his cries, she walked across the room and unbarred and unlocked the front door. Thorin was standing across the yard, leaning against a tree. “What took you so long?” he asked with a grin.

“You’re just so ungrateful,” muttered Rose and his grin widened.

They all went into the house and laughed when they saw the unconscious men and heard Marty yelling from the cellar. “Brilliant!” said Tauriel. Then they hauled the drunks out into the yard and released Marty from his prison. As he stumbled up the ladder and emerged into the room, he found Orcrist at his throat.

“Get out in the yard with your friends,” snarled Thorin. Outside, Rose and Arion doused Jim and Bill with buckets of cold water while Thorin stood by with his sword and Tauriel with her bow.

“And now, be off with you,” said Thorin. “And we don’t want to see you anywhere in the area again.”

The men staggered to their feet, moaning and clutching their heads. “You’re gonna pay for this, Rose,” said Jim in a menacing voice. “Really pay for it.”

Thorin pressed Orcrist against his throat. “If you dare threaten my daughter again, you’ll never see another dawn,” he said softly. “And, now, get out of here.”

The three men went quickly, looking fearfully over their shoulders. And then the family were able to enter their home for the first time in six months. The place was a mess. The men had only been there a couple of days and yet had managed to trash it. They all sat down and gazed around despondently. “I won’t be able to relax until it’s all tidy,” said Tauriel and, although they were hungry, they set to with brooms and cleaning cloths and buckets of water. In a surprisingly short amount of time, it felt like home again and then they were able to appreciate the extension to the Hall. Arion’s old bedroom had been turned into a playroom and a place to keep toys. They walked through it to reach two new bedrooms which had been built for the children and was designed to distance them a bit more from their parents’ room. Tauriel gave Thorin an amused, sidelong glance but he didn’t seem to notice. Both children were pleased with their rooms; Arion’s was sturdy and masculine whilst Rose’s had lots of pretty details and a beautiful little bed carved with flowers. 

Rose sighed. “It’s lovely,” she said. “I shall sleep in here tonight.”

“Does that mean that I’ll have to sleep on my own?” asked Arion a bit anxiously.

“Yes,” said Rose. “But you can have Dog with you, if you like, and I’ll check for monsters under the bed before you go to sleep.”

“Oh, all right, then,” said Arion, sounding quite happy with the deal.

Then Tauriel and Rose cooked a meal whilst Thorin and Arion did their best to help. And, finally, they sat down to eat with the feeling that they had, at last, come home.

.o00o. 

Tauriel had been looking forward to some celebratory love-making that night and was disappointed when Thorin climbed into bed, gave her a peck on the cheek and then went straight to sleep. She sighed, there was something wrong, in spite of his reassurances, and she would talk to him tomorrow.

Thorin was only pretending to be asleep. He had been very disturbed by the events of the day in more ways than one. All the way to the forge, he had been gearing himself up for a conversation with Tauriel, only to find the house occupied by squatters. And then what happened? Was the great Thorin Oakenshield the one to seize back his family’s home? No, that was achieved by a little girl whilst he stood by helpless. And the men had threatened his daughter. He should have killed them there and then because their threats would now hang over Rose and they would never know if and when a revenge attack would take place. But, he had grown soft, even in the defence of his children, and he had just shooed them away. 

What was wrong with him? He had been totally inadequate and the best thing to do was to get Tauriel and the children away from this dangerous place as soon as possible. Rivendell was where he would like them to go and where he felt they would be happiest. Rose had a very good relationship with Elrond and, moreover, the elf understood the difficulties of having mixed blood which meant he would be able to help and advise Arion as he grew older in a way that he could not. Bilbo often visited there as well and he would be a good friend and contact for all three of them. And, finally, it was this side of the Misty Mountains, unlike Mirkwood, and perhaps they would like him to visit them sometimes, too. He guessed that they would look forward to his visits initially, but he also knew that, the longer they were apart, the more distant Tauriel and the children would become. There might even come a time when they asked him not to visit any more. It gave him pain to think about this but he knew that he must put the needs of his family and not his own selfish desires first.

In fact, he was practising being unselfish tonight. He desperately wanted to make love to Tauriel. But, if tomorrow he suggested that they all leave, any love-making now might remind her of the time when he had said it was one to remember him by and he had no desire to give her back a memory of that most cruel moment. And so he pretended to be asleep. And Tauriel lay next to him and pretended to be asleep as well.

.o00o. 

Pt IV 

Thorin got up early and went straight out to his forge to work on his new commissions. Hammering helped him to think. The forge had been rebuilt beautifully and he found it a very calming place to be. He could hear them all getting up in the house, opening shutters and the front door, making breakfast and singing, and all being perfectly happy without him. 

Later.....Later today, he would tell them. He would get them all together and explain to them why it was best for everyone concerned if they moved to Rivendell without him........everyone concerned except him, of course. But he wouldn’t let them know that. He knew he couldn’t live with the elves for more than a few weeks and he had to make his family understand that a separation was the only way.

Thorin put his tools down and went to the pump in the corner. He felt hot and miserable and needed to wash all his muddy thoughts away. He stuck his head under the pump and had only just raised it, wet and dripping, when a shadow blocked the light from the door. He turned, expecting to see Tauriel or Rose with his breakfast but, instead, there stood Jim and Marty, armed to the teeth, and screams suddenly came from the house next door. He glanced to the far side of the room where his sword and axe stood propped in the corner. They saw the direction of his glance and laughed.

“Well, dwarf,” sneered Jim, “we seem to ‘ave caught you on the ‘op. And here’s us payin’ you a visit wiv a few friends.” And he advanced into the room with his axe whilst Marty followed with his sword. 

Thorin relaxed and took up a defensive posture. He was the great warrior, Thorin Oakenshield, and they were the scum of the underworld. No problem. He smiled, showing his white teeth.

“’Ere, Jim, why’s ‘e smilin’?” said Marty in a worried voice.

“’E’s preparin’ to meet ‘is fate,” said Jim, advancing further into the room. But Marty wasn’t convinced and held back.

Jim ran at Thorin, swinging his axe, and brought it down on the dwarf in a heavy sweep. Thorin stood very still until the last moment. And then he moved slightly to one side so that the axe swept past him, missing him by a hair’s breadth. Jim was flung forward by the weight and momentum of his own weapon and Thorin lunged, seizing the axe from his unsteady grasp in passing and knocking him from his feet. Then, as Marty stood open-mouthed, he swung the axe and swept Marty’s head from his shoulders and, as he spun with the movement of the axe, he brought it down on Jim’s neck as he still lay on the floor. It had only taken a few seconds and it was all over.

There was an ominous silence from the hall next door and then Dog began to bark. Thorin seized Orcrist and dashed to the door of his home. Four men lay sprawled on their backs in the centre of the room. And they were all dead. Two had their throats cut and two had arrows through them. 

It seemed to Thorin that he was watching a tableau. Tauriel stood, wide-eyed and motionless on one side of the room, a killing knife in each hand, whilst the two children stood in a similar motionless fashion with their dwarven bows raised and their hands still in the firing position against their cheeks as if they had only just released the bowstring. Dog was the only thing in motion in the room, barking his head off and running excitedly from side to side. 

Thorin’s entrance broke the spell and, suddenly, they were all shouting at once. When the clamour had died down, he wrapped them in his arms for a few moments and then made them sit down so that they could tell him what had happened in the room.

“They came in while I was in the kitchen,” said Tauriel. “I think they thought it would be easy – a woman and two children. They came to kill us,” she said and she raised her eyes to him in horror. “But my knives were in the kitchen and I shouted for you and the children heard me scream.”

“We were in the playroom,” said Arion, “and we ran to our bedrooms and got our bows.”

“Yeah,” said Rose, her eyes glowing with excitement. “And when we came out, Tauriel was fighting two of them and Dog had one by the ankle and we just – we just – shot them.” And suddenly she burst into tears. “My arrow went right through ‘is breastplate,” she sobbed. “I knew it would.” And Thorin gathered both his children in his arms and comforted them.

“It’s over,” he said. And then they dragged the bodies outside, cleaned up the bloodstains and had breakfast. Afterwards, the children climbed upon his lap and went to sleep.

“They’re exhausted,” said Tauriel. And she leaned on his shoulder and shut her eyes too and they all sat there for a long time.

.o00o. 

But this did not increase Thorin’s confidence in himself: in fact, it only made things worse. As he sat there quietly with Tauriel and the children, he could only think of his huge mistake in judgement when he had failed to kill the squatters. Because of this, the men had come back with reinforcements and had nearly killed his entire family. By the time that Arion and Rose had woken up and had gone to play in their room and Tauriel had got up and returned to the kitchen, Thorin was convinced that the forge was a very dangerous place to be and that he was a very dangerous person to be with.

This afternoon, he told himself. I must tell them this afternoon.

.o00o. 

The afternoon came and Thorin took a deep breath. “I want to talk to everyone about something important,” he said.

Here it comes, thought Tauriel.

They all sat around the table and looked expectantly at him and Thorin cleared his throat.

“The attacks on us and our home in the past two days have convinced me of something I’ve been concerned about for a long time.” They all stared wide-eyed at him wondering what was coming next. “I think it’s pretty obvious that this forge is not a suitable place to bring up a family and it seems a good idea to me that you should all move to Rivendell.”

“Why Rivendell?” asked Tauriel.

“Well, for a start,” said Thorin to his wife, pleased that there wasn’t an immediate outcry, “we’ve had trouble both from the dwarves and men up at the settlement and from the elves down in the Grey Havens. Just like here, they are not safe places either. But Rivendell is. And it is a place where I know you feel very happy and comfortable.”

He turned to the children. “You both like Elrond, don’t you?” And they nodded. “Elrond is already teaching you a lot of important things, Rose. And I think, Arion, that Elrond would have plenty of good advice for you as you get older.”

“Well,” said Rose, “I’m a bit fed up with learning to speak proper. I like you teaching me ‘ow to ride and ‘ow to shoot a bow. And that was a really useful thing to know this morning, wasn’t it?”

“And,” said Arion, “you always give me good advice. Why does Elrond have to give it to me?”

There was a long pause and finally Thorin said quietly: “Because I won’t be there.”

There was immediate uproar with everyone shouting at once. Finally, Tauriel held up her hand for silence and said with a quiver in her voice: “I think you’d better explain yourself, Thorin.”

He stared at them all, wondering how he could make them understand and then he said: “For most of my adult life, I wanted to defeat Smaug and be King under the Mountain. I was obsessed with it. Nothing else mattered. And then I became King.” And he paused.

“And then you gave it all away,” said Tauriel quietly.

“Yes, I gave it all away because I was no good at being a king. I nearly caused the deaths of dwarves, men and elves because of my pride. Dain is a much better king than I could ever have been.”

“And then,” continued Tauriel, “you married me and had children.”

He looked at her. “You and Arion and Rose were all I ever wanted. I thought that no dwarf could be luckier.”

“But then,” said Tauriel, “you decided that you were no good at being a husband or a father and now you want to give us all away – to Elrond.”

“Yes,” said Thorin, relieved that she seemed to understand.

“How dare you?!” said Tauriel quietly and with feeling.

The children lined up either side of her.

“I don’t want to be given away! Don’t you dare give me away! It’s as bad as me dad tryin’ to sell me!” cried Rose.

“And I don’t want to be given away either!” said Arion. “And neither does Dog.” And he put his arm around his pet.

This was not going well, thought Thorin and he tried again.

“Look, children,” he said, “I want you to think about what a bad father I’ve been and how dangerous it is to be near me and how much better off you’ll be in Rivendell.” They looked at him sullenly and so he pressed on. “Just think how I let Kagris into my home and it nearly ended up with you being murdered, Arion. And how I was just too stupid to realise that there was so much hatred for this family. And just think, Rose, of the way I treated you when I first found you, as if you were an adult and not a little girl. I was so rough and unkind. You must have hated me.”

“Well,” muttered Rose, “I deserved it. And you taught me right from wrong.”

“And it was me who let Kagris into our home and kept things from you and ran away with Arion in the middle of the night, putting us both in danger,” put in Tauriel.

Thorin ran his fingers through his hair and pressed on: “But don’t you remember how much you enjoyed being with Bilbo and Elrond and Legolas? It was much more fun than being with me.”

“Novelty value,” said Tauriel. “It soon wore off.”

“And what about me involving you in that fight with the elves in Mirkwood? No decent father would have done that.”

“Oh,” said Rose, her eyes gleaming, “but it was so much fun!”

“Yeah,” said Arion, “and I started it!”

“And what about the past few days?” he asked desperately. “I should have killed those squatters and, because I didn’t, they came back to kill us. I’m just too dangerous to be with.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Rose scornfully. “You saved me and Arion from drowning.”

“And you saved me from those men and dwarves who called me a ‘bomination,” put in Arion.

“And you saved me and Lostwithiel from the orcs,” said Tauriel. “And you saved us all when you held up the roof in the cave where you were prepared to die yourself.”

“You’re a hero,” said Rose.

“Yeah!” said Arion. “And heroes don’t give their children away!”

There was a pause while they all glared fiercely at him. Then he said: “Go outside and play, you two. I need to talk to your mother. And, reluctantly, they went out into the yard. “And don’t go near those bodies!” he yelled.

He turned back to Tauriel and she sat waiting patiently. Then he got up and paced up and down the room. And then he came back to the table, sat down and took her by the hand. “It’s your responsibility,” he said, “to take your children away to Rivendell, out of harm’s way. And I’m leaving it up to you to persuade them.”

“They’re your responsibility too,” she replied calmly. “And they’re definitely not Elrond’s.”

Thorin got up again and walked around a bit more. “Then, if you won’t go for their sake, you must go for your own.” And he sat down and took her hand in his. “Tauriel,” he said, “you must see that life with the elves offers you more than I can ever offer you.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like, all that beauty.”

“You’re beautiful,” she said.

He dropped her hand and continued doggedly: “And there’s the music and the poetry.”

“I can write my own poetry if I really want to and your singing surpasses anything I have heard in either Rivendell or Mirkwood. And I think the ladies of the Grey Havens would agree with me there.” And she giggled.

“Stop it, Tauriel,” he said, “and listen to me seriously.”

With an effort, she pulled a straight face and said, “I’m listening.”

“And there’s the witty conversation. I don’t do witty conversation,” he said sullenly.

“Ah, yes,” she said, “but I could listen to your lovely voice all day. And being witty is so tiring.”

“And what about the dangers of living with me at this forge?” he persisted.

“There are dangers everywhere. You don’t escape them by running away. And I’d rather face them with you than with anyone else on Middle-earth.” And she leaned across the table and kissed him tenderly.

He was not going to be side-tracked. He backed away and said: “But I’ve been so cruel to you and I can’t guarantee that I won’t be cruel again.”

“And I have forgiven you. And I shall forgive you again. And besides,” she added, “for every unkind thing you have ever done – and those can be counted on the fingers of one hand – you have done hundreds of wonderful things – acts of love, kindness, bravery, compassion – the list is endless.” And she stood up and came around to where he was sitting and sat upon his lap and, taking him by his plaits, looked deeply into his eyes. “And that’s why I love you. And that’s why Arion and Rose love you. And that’s why there is no way on Middle-earth that we are going to traipse off to Rivendell and leave you behind. We are going to stay with you in this forge on the crossroads because that’s where we all belong....... Together........ And now,” she said, “I am going to kiss you. And I shan’t stop kissing you until you agree that I am right.”

Then Tauriel covered his lips with her own and he let her kiss him for some time until he finally agreed that she was right. And Tauriel went to the door and called the children in and told them that they weren’t going to Rivendell but that they were all going to stay together at the forge and that their father had agreed to stop being silly. And then the children cheered and gave Thorin a hug.

.o00o. 

Thorin and Tauriel lay in bed together. “There is one more thing,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” she sighed.

“I’m going to die and then you will be left all on your own.”

“Yes, I know, my love,” she said, “and I wish that we could go on together for all time. But we can’t. We must just make the most of the days that we have been given. Every moment we spend together must count and every moment must be beautiful, like this,” she said. And she drew him into her arms and kissed him and whispered how much she loved him. And the moments that they spent together that night and every night were, indeed, very beautiful.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Baby. Time for more children, perhaps? And perhaps a new pet? But nothing comes easy in the Oakenshield household. Will a new baby be welcomed by Arion and Rose and will Rose find another crush to supplant Legolas when they go up to the outpost to visit the elves?


	12. Thorin and the Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn’t it about time that Thorin and Tauriel had more children, you might ask? And so, by popular request, I bring you the story of Thorin and the Baby, wherein Tauriel gets pregnant, Rose develops a new crush and Arion adopts a new pet.

Thorin and the Baby   
Pt I

Thorin had been back home from his travels in exile for nine months now and he was a happy man. A very, very happy man. He lay in bed with Tauriel as the sun rose and his hand rested on her swollen belly. Ten months pregnant with only two more months to go. She had got past all the dangerous moments of the early months without a miscarriage and the physician reckoned that it should all be downhill from here. He felt the baby kick beneath his palm and a wave of tenderness washed through him. He nuzzled Tauriel’s throat and she smiled sleepily, turning towards him a little clumsily and kissing him. “Time to get up?” she asked.

“Not quite yet,” he said. “But there’s just enough time to find out who this strange woman is lying next to me.”

“What strange woman?” she giggled, as his hands began to caress her.

“Well, this one,” he murmured. “She just doesn’t feel like the woman who used to sleep in my bed and I believe that the whole matter needs a thorough investigation.” His thorough investigation took another hour and was enjoyed by both parties.

Tauriel sighed. “That was lovely,” she said. “I’m so ugly and swollen at the moment and you make me feel quite beautiful.”

Thorin tutted in her ear. “But you ARE beautiful, my love. Never more so.”

“Love is blind,” she whispered back. “I’m very glad to say.” And she kissed him tenderly.

Her pregnancy still filled them both with wonder. They had begun to think that Arion might be their only natural born son. But this new child had been conceived on their journey back to Ered Luin at Elrond’s Last Homely House and had slowly become apparent after they had got back home.

“I think it must be something to do with Rivendell,” Tauriel said. “It’s such a magical place.” And her only wish was that Elrond could be at her side to help her through the birth as he had done so expertly with Arion.

They got up then and soon the children and Dog came running into the Hall eager to eat breakfast so that they could go on their treat for the day. As Tauriel got nearer and nearer her time, she had become concerned that Arion and Rose would feel neglected – as they surely would – once the baby was born. And so, every week, she tried to take them on a small “adventure” so that they would remember the good times they had had together and know that, in the end, such times would return again. She deliberately called them the Baby Days so that they would associate them with the coming birth.

But Thorin was becoming more anxious particularly as he had to stay behind and work in his forge. “Are you sure you’re up to it?” he regularly asked as the months passed.

“Yes, I’m sure I am,” she would say, kissing his worry lines. “I’ve got the trap now and it’s much more comfortable than riding my horse.” Thorin had bought her a well-sprung trap with padded seats for them to travel in and he felt a bit more reassured about her journeys. Last week, they had gone for a few days’ holiday to the Grey Havens and, next week, they would spend a few more days with Dis in the dwarven settlement, possibly the last time they would see her before the baby was born.

Tauriel had organised a particularly exciting adventure for them to go on this morning which the children knew nothing about yet. “Where are we going for our Baby Day?” asked Arion, looking fit to burst.

“You’ll never guess,” teased Tauriel.

“No, we won’t,” said Rose, “so I wish you would hurry up and tell us.” And her eyes danced with anticipation.

“It’s somewhere you’ve never been before.”

“We don’t want clues,” said Rose, squirming on the edge of her seat. “We just want to KNOW!”

“Well,” grinned their mother, “I’m taking you up to the outpost and we shall spend the day with some of my men.” The children screamed and whooped and danced around the table. They knew all about their mother’s work as captain of an elven troop but had never visited the farmhouse and had never even met any of the elven lords who manned it. This did, indeed, promise to be a very thrilling experience. Tauriel had not visited herself for a month but had left her right-hand man, Lostwithiel, in charge until after she had given birth. But, it would be delightful to see them all again, even if it was only for a sociable day.

There was a decent track up to the old farmhouse that had become the main outpost for Ered Luin. The weather was fine and sunny and Tauriel thought that the journey there and back in the comfortable trap would not prove too difficult. But she promised that, if she felt too tired, she would stay there overnight and light the beacon at dusk as a signal to Thorin. Now that Gandalf’s fireworks had proved such a useful warning system, the beacon there was no longer used to signify danger but was just a useful method of pre-arranged communication.

“Please be careful, my love,” murmured Thorin as he kissed her and helped her up into the seat of the trap. And she promised that she would be. 

It was such an enjoyable ride. Rose was ten years old now, going on eleven, and Arion was four and they and Tauriel chattered excitedly as they steadily wound their way up into the hills with Dog trotting happily alongside them. When Lithin, the lookout, stopped them and then saluted them and their mother, it made the children feel very important indeed. The visit had been arranged on her last trip there and the family were expected. There was no patrol that day and the whole troop were gathered together to greet the family and to give them an entertaining time forTauriel’s sake.

Arion was very impressed by all these fine soldiers and decided there and then that he wanted to become one of them when he grew up. And, if Rose had been starry-eyed when she had met Legolas, then she was quite overwhelmed by all these dashing, athletic, blond-haired elf lords who sauntered out to greet them with their dazzling smiles and who swept her and her mother so effortlessly down from the seat of the trap. They all lined up to salute Tauriel but when she said, “At ease!” they bent over and kissed Rose’s hand in that graceful way that had embarrassed her so much when Thranduil had done it in Mirkwood. Only, this time, it wasn’t embarrassing but rather nice. And, just as Arion was deciding that he would be a soldier, so Rose was deciding that she was going to marry one of these handsome elves when she grew up. They were immortal: they could afford to wait for her, just as Tauriel had married a much younger Thorin. The only problem was, which one to choose? The shy one, the athletic one, the tall one, the clever one? Ahhh, so many stunning elf lords and so little time, she thought. And she had visions of herself in a beautiful elven gown, wearing a mithril crown and dancing elegantly with an elven husband whilst the while room bowed to her.

Borondin and Rostrel showed the children around the farmhouse whilst Tauriel rested in the comfortable kitchen. Lostwithiel filled her in on various minor things that had happened in the past month and, when the children returned, he served up drinks and a cake that the elves had made themselves. And when they all said how good it was and asked for another slice, the elves looked very pleased.

The idea was that Lostwithiel should take them on a picnic in a pretty glade a couple of miles away whilst the rest of the troop got on with their duties. It was an easy ride and they could take the trap whilst Lostwithiel rode his horse. They would have another little get-together on their return, playing games and competing with their bows, and then, if all was well, Tauriel would drive home.

Soon, off they set with Lostwithiel. Arion wanted to ride with him on his horse and Rose, after studying the elf lord for at least the first mile, came to the conclusion that he might prove to be the one for her. He was tall, well-muscled, VERY blond and rode his horse with an elegant nonchalance. How sophisticated he seemed. And so witty. They laughed a lot as he engaged them in delightful conversation. She made comparisons and decided that Thorin didn’t engage in delightful conversation. He was more likely to be telling her off about something or glaring at her from under his dark brows. And black was such a boring colour. She tugged at her own pretty black curls that were now half-way down her back and at Arion’s hair and thought about Thorin’s. Blond was infinitely preferable, particularly if it were straight. And she looked admiringly at Tauriel’s golden mane and at Lostwithiel’s hair that was almost bleached white by the sun. Infinitely preferable.

With these entertaining thoughts dancing in her head, they finally reached the delightful glade. What a wonderful place for a picnic, she thought. They were high up and could see for miles. The sun was warm, the sky was blue, the trees cast a dappled shade and Lostwithiel threw a white cloth on the ground and brought some small seats from the back of the trap on which his guests could sit. They built a camp fire and, since both Lostwithiel and Tauriel had brought some dainty treats with them, the chidren were soon demolishing a pile of food with enthusiasm. Then the children and Dog lay upon the ground and listened to the hum of insects and bees whilst Tauriel remained in a seat and Lostwithiel lounged on one arm and recited poetry and sang them songs. Yes, definitely The One, thought Rose.

They were all so languid and sleepy that, when it happened, they were totally unprepared. A huge white streak, the size of a pony, charged through the glade, grabbed Arion by the scruff of his neck and disappeared into the trees. Tauriel and Rose screamed, Dog barked hysterically and Lostwithiel jumped to his feet and dashed to his horse. “A warg!” he yelled. “Arion’s been taken by a warg!”

.o00o.

 

PT II

Lostwithiel grabbed his bow and quiver that were hanging from a tree and leaped gracefully onto his horse. Like a real hero, Rose thought. He whistled to Dog who was straining to be of use and the animal shot off on the trail of the warg.

Tauriel struggled to get up from her low seat but Rose stopped her. “There’s nothing you can do,” she said sensibly. “Let Lostwithiel sort it out.” And so, with a pounding heart, Tauriel sat back down again and Rose put her arms around her.

The warg was a female albino. Rejected by many of her kind, she had come down from the mountains to find a suitable place to give birth to her pups. She had discovered a small den and it was there that three of her babies had been born and two of them had died. She was determined that the last of them would survive. She was huge and vicious, with lolling tongue and great, slavering jaws, a wolf in all but size and name. Her surviving pup was also albino and was already larger than Dog but its mother had been searching all day for some delicacy that would increase its chances of survival and she thought she had found it in Arion.

Arion, when he was younger, had been afraid of two things: the dark and monsters under the bed. Now that he had overcome those two fears, nothing else scared him, not even being carried in the jaws of a monstrous, wolf-like creature. In fact, he was feeling very angry and his little face, screwed up in indignation, was the image of his father’s when he was in a grumpy mood.

The warg reached her den and dropped her tender morsel on the ground in front of her child, nudging Arion towards it and whining in an encouraging way. She wanted the pup to practise going in for the kill which is why she was now presenting live meat to it - but if the boy had been for herself, Arion would have been dead within seconds of her picking him up. The pup looked at Arion with interest and barred his teeth in imitation of its mother. Saliva dripped from between its huge teeth and it growled, low and menacingly, in its throat. Arion was only partly aware of his danger, but he recognised bad behaviour when he saw it in an animal and, balling his fist, he struck the pup hard on the nose. “Bad boy!” he shouted at him. “Sit!!” And he pointed to the ground. The baby warg yelped and blinked in surprise; then it sat down. The irritated mother, angry that this creature had struck her child, was just about to rip Arion’s head off when she was startled by the sound of barking and a horse’s hooves. She leaped from her den to confront this new danger but was struck down by three arrows that hit her in quick succession before she even had time to assess the situation. Lostwithiel nocked another arrow as the cub emerged and ran, circling and whining, around the body of its dead mother. As he drew back the bow, Arion crawled out of the den, yelling: “Stop! Stop it! I want him!”

“What?” said Lostwithiel.

“I said I wanted him. You’ve killed his mother and now I think we ought to look after him.” And he stood between the creature and the elf’s line of sight. The cub hid behind him as if suddenly realising that it was in some kind of peril whilst Dog barked angrily and made ready to attack the warg himself .

“Arion,” said Lostwithiel, half in irritation and half in amusement, “you can’t make a warg into a pet. It’s never been heard of before.”

“And no-one had ever heard of an elf and a dwarf having a baby before, but here I am,” grinned the boy. And Lostwithiel recognised the stubbornness of his father in his eyes. The only thing to do was to ask Tauriel and so Lostwithiel passed the buck. Arion called off Dog who slunk away in a bad humour and they tied a rope around the cub and pulled him along, rather reluctantly, behind the horse. The horse was very skittery when it found it had a warg snapping at its heels and Dog looked as though he was ready to disobey Arion’s commands.

“But, I’m glad,” said Lostwithiel, “that I managed to find you in one piece.”

“Thank you for saving me,” said Arion in a very ungrateful voice. He suspected that the elf would do his best to deprive him of his new toy.

As they approached the picnic glade, Arion was getting ready in his mind a list of all the things that he could say that might persuade his mother that keeping the warg was a sensible idea. His list was very short and he was just gearing himself up for a knock-down fight over the creature when they all heard a cry for help from the clearing. Lostwithiel increased the speed of his horse, dragging the cub along in his wake, and they entered the glade to witness a frightening scene.

Tauriel was lying on the grass on the now-stained table-cloth, groaning in what was obviously terrible pain. Rose was kneeling next to her, holding her hand tightly. “She’s ‘aving the baby,” she yelled. “The fright over the warg brought it on. Come and ‘elp.”

Lostwithiel went from being an elegant, confident elf lord to an embarrassed, quaking jelly in five seconds. He looked over his shoulder as if he expected to find suitable help waiting just behind him. He backed away with his hands held up in horror and it was Arion who ran forward to see what he could do.

Tauriel gasped with relief when she saw her son and reached out her hand to touch him.

“Get over ‘ere, Lostwithiel,” Rose snapped. “You can’t deliver a baby from 12 feet away!”

“D-deliver a baby,” stuttered the elf. “But I’ve got no idea....”

“And neither ‘as Arion but ‘e’s showed ‘imself willin’,” she said sharply. The elf was going down fast in her estimation. Perhaps he wasn’t The One after all.

Lostwithiel edged closer. “Can’t we get her into the trap and take her back to the outpost?”

“No, we can’t,” said Rose. “She’s in too much pain and it might be bad for the baby. We’ll just ‘ave to manage.”

“Well,” said Lostwithiel, seeing a means of escape, “perhaps I should go and get some help.”

“From the farm’ouse?” she asked scornfully. “Got any midwives up there, or are they all like you?”

Lostwithiel saw her point and submitted himself to Rose’s instructions.

“Have you ever delivered a baby?” he asked Rose.

“I’ve watched a couple of times,” she replied.

Better than nothing, he thought.

She directed Arion to tie up Dog and the warg to separate trees and then to get some water boiling on their camp fire. She then asked Lostwithiel for his knife. “What’s the knife for?” asked the elf looking pale and sweaty.

“For cutting the cord,” Rose said and Lostwithiel looked paler and sweatier than ever.

“And we need some string.” Lostwithiel looked vacant. “What have you got in your pockets, Arion?” she asked.

He dug his hands in his pockets. “String,” he said, holding up a few lengths.

“How did you know that?” asked the elf, looking amazed.

“I thought everyone knew that all little boys carry string in their pockets,” said Rose scornfully. Did this elf know nothing?

Tauriel let out a loud groan again and called for Rose. Rose knelt by her side and the elf clutched her hand. “I’m frightened, Rose,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.” And Rose sat by her shoulder and told her that she wouldn’t.

“Take off your shirts, you two,” she said, “and then you can put your jerkins back on.”

“Our SHIRTS?” said Lostwithiel.

“Yes, your shirts,” the girl sighed. “We’re going to need something to wrap the baby in and to mop up everything.”

“Everything?” the elf lord said faintly.

“Yes, everything,” snapped Rose. “And stop repeatin’ what I say!”

After only a short time, Tauriel’s pains were coming thick and fast. She was still holding on tightly to Rose’s hand and wouldn’t let her go. “I think this is moving really quickly,” Rose muttered, “and the baby will be small. It might shoot out pretty fast. Get down there between Tauriel’s legs, Lostwithiel, and tell me if you can see the top of the baby’s ‘ead yet. Get ready to catch it when it pops out.”

Lostwithiel just couldn’t do it. He knelt down between Tauriel’s legs but he turned his head away and shielded his eyes with a hand.

“No time for modesty,” Rose yelled. “Look! Now! This minute! What do you see?”

Lostwithiel took a peek between his fingers. “The top of the baby’s head?” he suggested cautiously. And then he shouted in excitement: “The top of the baby’s head! I can see the top of the baby’s head!”

He placed his shirt on the grass and knelt with his hands ready for the catch. It happened suddenly, but he was there. The baby slithered out and he wrapped it in his shirt. “It’s a girl!” he yelled and they all cheered. “What now?” he asked, excited but afraid. “Wiggle your finger around in ‘er mouth and make sure it’s clear and then turn ‘er over and rub ‘er back until she breathes.” The baby breathed and cried and they all took a breath themselves. Tauriel finally let go of Rose’s hand and she retrieved the knife from a pot of boiling water, showed Lostwithiel what the string was for and cut the cord.

Half an hour later, it was all over and Arion’s shirt had been used to mop everything up. I see what she meant, thought Lostwithiel. Tauriel was sitting propped up against a tree with a tiny, golden-haired daughter in her arms. “You were wonderful,” she smiled at Rose. “What an amazing little girl you are!”

“And Lostwithiel was pretty wonderful too,” grinned Rose, “when push came to shove, so to speak. And Arion didn’t lose his head either. What a team, eh?” And she grinned across at Lostwithiel who was sitting propped against another tree with a rather dazed expression on his face.

When Tauriel felt able, they helped her into the back of the trap with the baby and Rose, then the horse, the dog and the warg were tied behind while Arion with Lostwithiel got into the driving seat. Tiredly, they made their way back to the outpost. 

.o00o. 

PT III

Bedrolls had been replaced by proper beds at the farmhouse some months earlier, so at least Tauriel had somewhere comfortable to lay her head. There was so much excitement when they all returned with the baby and there was a constant queue to visit the newborn and her mother until Rose finally put her foot down and, shutting Tauriel’s bedroom door behind her, insisted that they let them both alone so that they could get some sleep. Then she went to the kitchen where decisions were being made.

Thorin had to be told immediately, the elves decided and, although he was tired, Lostwithiel felt that it was his duty to convey the message. He and Thorin wouldn’t return for four hours at the soonest, so Rose took a bedroll and, placing it next to Tauriel’s bed, also got some sleep. The unflagging Arion went outside to train his pet warg. He tied up Dog so that he wouldn’t interfere but Dog was very jealous and whined so much that Lithin took him into the house to feed him some treats.

The elves were fascinated by the warg. It wasn’t every day that any of them got to see a close-up of this terrifying animal. The cub was white and fluffy with a heavy ridge of hair around its shoulders. It looked very cuddly until it opened its mouth and then you could see the large, razor-sharp teeth. It was as big as a normal wolf already even though it was only a baby and there was some discussion over whether or not Arion should be allowed to mess around with it in the yard or if it made better sense to lock it in the stables for the moment until Thorin arrived and made a decision. But when they watched the little boy interacting with the pup, it soon became pretty clear that Arion had established himself as pack leader. The warg whined and fawned about him and obeyed every command. They found it quite amazing to watch. So, in the end, Arion was allowed to continue his training sessions while a couple of the elves kept an interested watch.

Down at the forge, Thorin was packing his tools away. He got himself a beer and then went out to sit on the bench to watch for the beacon in case it was lit. He hoped it wasn’t. He hoped that Tauriel was already on her way home with the two children. He was really getting unhappy about these expeditions. Somehow, it almost came as no surprise when he heard the beat of hooves and Lostwithiel came charging into the yard. Thorin leaped to his feet and suddenly felt very afraid, and he ran to seize the bridle of the plunging and rearing horse.

“It’s alright! She’s alright!” Lostwithiel shouted as he saw the look on Thorin’s face. And he slid off his sweating steed.

“The children?” Thorin’s thoughts flew elsewhere.

“No, they’re alright too. The warg did no harm,” gabbled Lostwithiel, trying to seize Thorin by the arm in a reassuring grasp.

“The warg? What warg?” cried Thorin in desperation.

“The warg that ran off with Arion......But don’t worry, I killed it!”

“Lostwithiel!” yelled Thorin, taking the elf by his shoulders and shaking him. “Make sense!”

“The baby! The baby’s come! I delivered it!” he managed to gasp.

“YOU delivered it?” shouted Thorin. You mean, you got down between my wife’s legs and.....” He drew back his fist.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Thorin,” snapped Lostwithiel, batting his fist away. “No time for that! Now focus! Just focus! Didn’t you hear me?” And he seized him by his plaits and stared him in the eyes. “THE BABY HAS BEEN BORN!”

“The baby has been born?” whispered Thorin.

“Yes,” grinned Lostwithiel, “and it’s a little girl with golden hair.”

“A little girl with golden hair?” echoed Thorin, and Lostwithiel could understand Rose’s annoyance at his constant repetition of her words.

“It’s a girl!” yelled Thorin. “And you delivered it, Lostwithiel!” and he clapped the elf on the back. “Tell me about it!”

And the elf lord told him the whole story as calmly as he could whilst Thorin kept grinning and punching him in the shoulder.

“And if you think that I had any romantic notions whilst I was down at the business end of someone giving birth, then you’re more stupid than I first thought,” he added indignantly.

Thorin embraced him. “That was an amazing thing you did,” he said at last and there was real emotion in his voice.

“It was awful, actually,” was the response. “Rose was the amazing one. She’s a real jewel. And she knows how to boss people around,” he laughed. “She really bullied me into helping out.”

“Was Arion afraid?” asked the new father.

“No. I was more frightened than he was. He’s a gutsy little boy. He didn’t seem concerned at all about the warg or his mother giving birth – he was too busy training up that warg pup.”

“Warg pup? What warg pup?” Thorin started to say. But then he marched to the stable to saddle his horse. “Don’t tell me,” he said, holding up his hand. “I don’t think I want to know.”

.o00o. 

Up at the farmhouse, Tauriel and Rose had both woken up from their nap. The baby was still fast asleep. “She’s bound to be very sleepy – she’s come into the world a bit early,” the elf said.

Rose studied the baby closely. She was very, very tiny but, at the same time, looked strong and healthy. She was utterly charming. Her hair was curly like Thorin’s but a pale gold like her mother’s. Tauriel gazed down at her with such a look of love that Rose wondered sadly if her own mother had ever looked at her like that. She doubted it. 

Rostrel brought in Arion for a few minutes to see his new sister. Arion thought to himself that a baby warg was much more interesting. He sat next to Rose on the bed. “She doesn’t look like my sister, does she?” was all he said. Then he wandered off in search of food. Rose went to fetch Tauriel a tray and then sat outside with a plate of food to wait for Thorin.

.o00o. 

When he came at last, Rose leaped to her feet and ran to meet him. He dismounted quickly and patted her on the head in a rather distracted way. “I hear you did well, Rose,” he said and then disappeared into the house. She ran in behind him.

In Tauriel’s office-cum-bedroom, she felt out of place. Thorin embraced his wife with a passionate tenderness and kissed her on the lips. The baby was in a make-shift cot, a drawer by the side of the bed, and he bent down to pick her up, his eyes glowing. “She’s beautiful,” he said, “really beautiful. How could a great lump like me be the father of such a lovely, exquisite child!” And he sat down on the bed and they gazed together at their new offspring. “Thank you, Tauriel,” he breathed. “Thank you.” And he kissed her again and then he kissed the child. They didn’t seem to notice Rose, standing there silently in the corner. The young girl felt intrusive and uncomfortable and crept quietly out of the room.

Thorin and Tauriel gazed into each other’s eyes for long, tender moments. They thought this day would never come. And now it had come and it was more wonderful than either of them had ever imagined.

“Rose was truly amazing,” said Tauriel at last. “I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t been there. Lostwithiel went completely to pieces until she had a good shout at him.” And she laughed.

“Lostwithiel called her a jewel and I think he’s right,” said Thorin. “One of the best things we ever did was to make her a part of our family.” And although he always found it difficult to say the word, he turned to Tauriel and, taking her by the hand, he said: “I really love her, you know, as if she were my own.”

And Tauriel stroked his cheek and said: “I know you do. And I love her, too. I knew what we had found that first time you brought her home – and so did Arion, even though he was little more than a baby.” And she pulled a plait. “It was you who couldn’t see the pearl cast in your way.”

“I think I did,” he replied quietly, “but you know how reluctant I am to acknowledge any depth of feeling.” And he kissed her again. His lips were very soft against hers and his beard felt silken against her cheek.

“You’ve been working on it,” she smiled. “I think you’re nearly there. Now, just tell me how much you love me again.”

.o00o. 

Out at the front of the house, Rose sat sadly in the warm summer twilight with her back against the wall and her chin resting upon her knees. Lostwithiel emerged from the stables having tended to the horses and, seeing her, came and sat down next to her.

“What’s the problem, then?” he asked.

“They don’t want me no more,” she said, and a tear ran down her cheek. “They’ve got a daughter of their own now and they don’t need me. And,” she added, “Arion don’t need me neither. He’s got his baby warg to play with and look after.”

“Where is he?” asked the elf.

“In one of the stables,” she said. “He’s taken a bedroll in there and he’s gonna sleep with the pup. We used to share a bedroom, you know,” she added, and she brushed away the tear quickly with the heel of her hand.

“And where are you going to sleep?” asked Lostwithiel. He suddenly realised that, in all the fuss, no thought had been given to the children.

“Oh, I’ll find a bedroll from somewhere and go and sleep in the barn or somefink,” she said. “I can’t sleep in the stable with Arion because the warg keeps growling at me.”

“Well,” smiled Lostwithiel, “if I don’t want to get into trouble with Tauriel for neglecting you, I think you’d better take my bed and I’ll sleep out in the barn.”

She protested but he insisted and at last she gave in. He put his arm around her shoulder and they sat there companionably for a while, enjoying the warmth of the wall against their backs, until it got cold and they went in.

.o00o. 

Pt IV 

The next morning, they made Tauriel stop in bed whilst they got organised for their journey home. There had been a bit of a confrontation over the warg but, finally, Thorin made a decision. When he first saw the creature, he had been amazed. He had fought with and killed many of them at the Battle of the Five Armies, but, to see one trotting along quietly at his son’s heels was quite disturbing. He had the urge to draw Orcrist and kill it there and then.

“I know what you’re thinking, father,” said Arion, as he saw Thorin’s hand twitch above his sword, “but this warg answers to me because he knows I’m in charge. Look!” And he demonstrated the creature’s obedience in a series of trials.

“I want to be a soldier when I grow up like you and Lostwithiel,” the child added, “perhaps even working up here at the outpost.” Thorin nodded in approval. “And I want to be a warg-rider,” he continued. “Just think how useful that would be in a fight or when we’re tracking.”

Thorin was nearly convinced. “So, where are you going to keep him at home,” he asked, “if I say yes?”

Arion had it all worked out: “Well, he’ll be like a cross between a horse and a dog, so I think it best if I keep him in one of the stables.”

“And what if the horses can scent him and don’t like it?”

“Then I shall have to train the horses, too, and teach them how to get along with him,” he replied calmly.

Thorin stepped forward and the warg growled. “Well, I would say that you’re the only one he likes at the moment,” he said. “But, I’ll give you two months to train him to get along with all of us – including Dog – and, if you succeed, then you can keep him.”

Arion punched the air and said, “Thanks, dad!”

“Do I get a hug, then?” asked Thorin.

“No,” said Arion. If I touch you, he might just try to bite your head off.”

Thorin could see two rather difficult months ahead.

.o00o. 

On the way back down to the forge, with Thorin driving the trap and all the other animals tied on behind, they discussed names.

“So,” said Thorin to Arion, “what are you going to call this new pet of yours?”

“Warg,” said Arion.

“Of course,” said Thorin. And then they discussed a name for the baby.

At first they played around with variations on Lostwithiel’s name since he had been the child’s midwife. Both Tauriel and Rose liked “Thiel” but, in the end, Thorin threw in his veto. “If we name her after Lostwithiel, every time I say her name, I shall think of what he was up to in order to deserve the honour. Not a nice image,” he said.

Then they thought of dwarven names from Thorin’s family tree but they sounded too harsh in Tauriel and Rose’s ears.

Then they thought of the women in Tauriel’s family but, since they had rejected dwarven names, this seemed unfair.

Arion suggested “Baby”, of course, as something pretty obvious, but then Arion would, and they all groaned.

“How about Poppy?” suggested Tauriel as they passed by a field of poppies. It will remind us all of the time when she was born and this happy trip back down to the forge.”

“And,” said Thorin, “I suppose it ties in nicely with Rose’s flower name and she was one of the midwives, too.” And so, Poppy it was.

.o00o. 

There was a certain amount of chaos when they got back. Arion’s old cot had to be got out of the barn because the baby hadn’t been expected for another two months and this was set up in Thorin and Tauriel’s bedroom for the moment. They still hadn’t worked out what to do once the baby was old enough to sleep in a room of her own. They had the two children’s bedrooms which were accessed through the playroom and Arion and Rose finally agreed that they would give up the playroom so that part of it could be walled off to make a bedroom for Poppy.

Warg and Dog were eyeing each other up bad-temperedly all the time and, in the end, they had a scrap in the yard which, surprisingly, Dog won. This, happily, determined the pecking order and, even when Warg was fully grown, he still let Dog lord it over him. And, now that Dog understood that Warg knew his place, he began to treat him good-naturedly, playing with him and even snuggling down with him when they both felt sleepy.

But, Warg was made to sleep in the stables. The horses next door were restless and unhappy and Arion agreed to start working on that straight away. That night, Warg was shown his bed and a blanket was thrown on the hay. He looked very miserable and just circled around on it, chasing his tail, not able to get comfortable. When Dog realised that Warg was going to be abandoned outside, he voluntarily went to join him and the two settled down together. And when the horses realised that Dog was next door, they seemed a lot happier, sensing that he was in charge.

Well, that’s one unexpected advantage, Thorin thought. At least it looks as though we can all sleep on our own without Dog now. 

Everyone seemed happy, except Rose. No-one had any time for her. They were all dashing around doing all sorts of important and busy things and she just felt in the way. And when there was a bit of time and calm, all that Tauriel and Thorin wanted to do was coo over the baby, as if she, Rose, no longer existed; and all Arion wanted to do was train up Warg; and all Dog wanted to do was play with Warg and Arion.

And, all Rose wanted was for it to be just like it was before Poppy was born.

.o00o. 

It was, in fact, just like going back to square one. Tauriel was in the house looking after the baby; Thorin was in his forge hammering away and Rose was in the yard kicking stones.

“For goodness’ sake, Rose,” yelled Thorin, “stop fidgeting around out there and come and lend me a hand!”

Part of her was pleased and part of her was grumpy: “Rose, come here and do this! Rose, come here and do that!” She seemed like everyone’s skivvy, only valued for what she could do for them. She expected Tauriel to call her into the kitchen soon to help with the cooking. She stomped into the forge and gave Thorin a glare.

Thorin ignored her glare because he understood what her problem was. He had often experienced jealousy in his life and he recognised it when he saw it. Poor Rose! He knew the pain of the emotion and he would help her get over it. 

Much to Rose’s surprise, Thorin didn’t want her help; he wanted to teach her something. “How would you like to be a smith like me?” he said. Rose looked up with surprise and her eyes glowed. Ever since Thorin had first demonstrated to her how a sword was made more than two years ago, she had been fascinated by the whole process. She had an innate creative urge which was desperately looking for an outlet and the moment that Thorin asked her if she wanted to be a smith, she knew that this was, indeed, what she wanted to be.

“But, can a girl be a smith?” she asked. “Are girls strong enough?”

“Well,” he grinned, “you’ll just have to build up the right muscles. And, anyway, you don’t have to specialise in beating out iron farming tools – you can concentrate on making jewellery instead.” And he brought out some of his beautiful commissions and, for the rest of the afternoon, they worked on them together.

.o00o.

That night, Tauriel and Thorin got into bed with a tired sigh. Poppy slept in the cot next to them and they spoke in quiet whispers.

“We must be mad to start this business all over again,” said Thorin. “Did we really think hard enough before becoming parents for a second time?”

“Of course we didn’t,” laughed Tauriel. “If anyone actually thought about it, Middle-earth would be full of one-child families.”

“But she IS very beautiful,” said Thorin glancing over at the cot.

“And, in only a year, she’ll be sleeping through the night,” grinned his wife.

“Do I remember having this conversation before?” Thorin groaned, pulling Tauriel gently towards him.

“On numerous occasions, my love,” she replied.

“Well, I suppose,” he said, “it gets easier the second time around.”

“And number twelve will be a piece of cake,” she chuckled.

“Number twelve?” his eyes widened. “Did I say that?”

“Yes, in one of your silly moments, you did.”

“Mind you,” he said, grinning wickedly, “working hard on producing all those children could be an awful lot of fun. When can we start?”

“Not yet, my love,” she said, wincing. “Definitely not yet.” And then she seized him firmly by his plaits and gave him a thorough kissing just to make up for the hiatus in their love life.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Elf Lord. The first year of a baby’s life is always a difficult time for the parents. Thorin and Tauriel have had plenty of practice with Arion but this time trouble comes at them from a totally unexpected direction.


	13. Thorin and the Elf Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This happens a few months after Poppy has been born. Life is a bit difficult, of course, but Thorin and Tauriel are coping – until something unpleasant that they thought had disappeared from their lives rears its ugly head again. This is the first in a trio of interlinked stories that I have written to cover Poppy’s early months and years.

Thorin and the Elf Lord  
Pt I 

“I don’t think I can go up to the outpost tomorrow,” said Tauriel. She was nursing a grizzling Poppy on her breast and was looking very tired. “I’m just not ready to start work yet – Poppy’s been so demanding.”

“Give her to me,” said Thorin. He had just come in from the forge to find his wife looking totally exhausted. Tauriel passed the baby over gratefully and Thorin walked up and down the room with her over his shoulder, humming a deep dwarven song as he went. His daughter quietened very quickly – she seemed to like the thrumming sound that echoed through his chest as he sang. He looked down to see if she had gone to sleep but she lay with her ear against him and opened one eye, staring back up at him.

“Naughty girl,” he murmured, but she just gurgled and reached up to grab one of his plaits. “You’re as bad as your mother,” he grinned. He continued to walk as he spoke to his wife and eventually Poppy nodded off.

“You’ve got so much patience with her,” said Tauriel as he came back from putting her down in her cot. “I’d ask you to stay with the children whilst I went up to the outpost but I just haven’t got the energy.”

Thorin sat down and drew his wife onto his lap. “Well,” he said, “how about it if I go up to the outpost instead for a few days and give them a bit of training? I’m sure they’ll be sympathetic and Lostwithiel was saying to me only the other day when he visited that he thought you were trying to go back too soon. Do you think you could manage with just Rose and Arion to help out?”

“I’m sure I can,” said the elf, leaning her head upon his chest. “Rose is also very good at getting Poppy to sleep and it would make me feel more comfortable if I knew one of us were up there.” She snuggled into his great shoulder and closed her eyes. “And, by the way,” she said, “I perfectly understand Poppy’s preference for your shoulder over mine. I could fall asleep here myself.”

Thorin bent down and nibbled her ear and she raised her face for a kiss.

“’Ere, not in front of the children,” grinned Rose as she walked into the room.

“Were you ever a child, Rose?” laughed Thorin. And Tauriel smiled and got up from Thorin’s lap. 

“I’m thinking of going to the farmhouse for a few days tomorrow,” said Thorin. “Your mother’s not feeling fit enough yet. Do you think you can help out while I’m away?”

“Of course I can,”said Rose. “I’m not exactly goin’ to stand ‘ere and watch Tauriel struggle on ‘er own, am I?”

And so it was decided.

The next day, Thorin packed his stuff and rode out into the hills of Ered Luin. 

“Stay as long as you think necessary, “Tauriel had said on parting. “Don’t worry about us.”

But Thorin did worry, of course, even though he knew they were all perfectly capable. In many ways, he thought, as he rode along, Poppy had been a lot easier than Arion. They were experienced parents now. Eleven year old Rose was a great help and Poppy, at three months, was just about sleeping through the night already. But, during the day, she hardly slept at all and constantly demanded their attention. Tauriel had taken to carrying her around in a sling which sort of worked, but it was very tiring. They had yet to make love but Thorin held an exhausted Tauriel in his arms every night until she fell asleep. This was the price they had to pay for another child and they were more than willing to pay it. In the end, their time would come and Thorin refused to panic about it.

Thorin could see the farmhouse in the distance and grinned. He really couldn’t get over just how much he was looking forward to getting together with a bunch of elves. They really were an attractive group: effective, brave, good-natured and lively. Even that idiot, Lostwithiel, had gone up in his estimation ever since he had helped to deliver Poppy. Thorin was nearly at the point of forgiving him for that farce with his wife. It was hard, but he was getting there.

And they always seemed to be so pleased to see him too. Thorin felt quite touched when he thought of the way they treated him – just like one of their own. And this was no mean feat considering the dislike that usually existed between elves and dwarves which had been intensified by his marriage to Tauriel. Both races had refused to accept them when they first became betrothed. Both had shown revulsion at their union and even Lostwithiel had tried to interfere. But, that was a long time in the past now. Their marriage seemed very well accepted and their beautiful children were the object of much admiration. And the elves at the outpost actually seemed to like him. That was a first, Thorin chuckled to himself.

Thorin was just riding up the last grassy stretch and was wondering what they were cooking for lunch when an elf he didn’t recognise suddenly emerged from the bushes, pointing an arrow in his face. “Get down from your horse, dwarf!” he snarled.

“Are you new?” asked Thorin mildly.

“I said get down,” repeated the elf in even nastier tones, “or you’re a dead dwarf!”

With a sigh, Thorin slowly dismounted.

“Tie your horse to that tree,” the elf snapped.

“You do know who I am?” said Thorin as he followed the order.

“Be quiet and just do as you’re told,” was the response. “I have absolutely no interest in who any dwarf is. Just raise your hands in the air and walk.”

If this had happened before he had met Tauriel, Thorin would have thoroughly lost his temper and the elf would now be out cold on the ground. But, he had mellowed. Now, an amused grin lifted the corner of his mouth. This elf was about to be badly embarrassed.

As they entered the courtyard in front of the farmhouse, Lostwithiel came out of the front door. He looked at Thorin, then at his captor with his mouth open, then he strode across the yard and said: “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Riel!” And he slapped the bow to one side.

“Can I put my hands down now, Lostwithiel?” asked Thorin politely. The elf lord rolled his eyes.

“What do you think?” he said. Then he turned to Riel. “You do know who this is, don’t you?” he said.

“I did try to tell him,” said Thorin helpfully in Lostwithiel’s ear.

“Of course I don’t know,” glowered Riel. “How am I expected to know the name of every passing dwarf?”

“Well, you’ll soon wish you had known the name of this one,” snapped Lostwithiel. “This is Thorin Oakenshield.”

“The King under the Mountain?” said Riel, looking a bit taken aback.

“The EX King under the Mountain at your service,” said Thorin, with a mocking bow.

An apologetic look was beginning to form on Riel’s face but this soon disappeared when Lostwithiel added: “And he’s also our captain’s husband.”

“Tauriel’s husband?” he gasped.

“Yes, it’s shocking, isn’t it?” said Thorin sarcastically. He was just so fed up with this sort of response and had honestly thought that he had seen the back of it.

Riel glared at him, turned on his heel and marched into the farmhouse.

“I’ll speak to him,” said the elf lord.

“Well, don’t be too hard on him,” said Thorin with a wry smile. “You lot were just as bad in the beginning.”

And Lostwithiel had to guiltily admit that this was so.

As they strolled back down the hill to pick up Thorin’s horse, the dwarf asked about the newcomer.

“He’s related to Rostrel, a cousin, I think, from Lothlorien. He heard about his life here and decided that he would like to join the troop too. He’s only been here a couple of days.”

“Ah,” said Thorin. “That explains his overenthusiasm on sentry duty.”

The horse was stabled and Lostwithiel went off to speak to Riel.

Riel was waiting for him in the office. “Why didn’t you warn me?” he said sullenly.

“Because it no longer occurs to any of us that there’s anything to warn people about,” responded Lostwithiel sharply. “Thorin is one of us. He is a friend and colleague, a great warrior and a fine person. He trains us on a regular basis and, only three months ago, I delivered his daughter.” He noticed Riel’s jaw drop and the look of distaste that came into his eyes and gave an inward sigh. Yes, he thought, it wasn’t so long ago that we all reacted that way and so I suppose we ought to give him a bit of space.

“They have children?” Riel muttered. “What sort of monsters are they?”

Lostwithiel felt like hitting him, so proud as he was of Poppy. “They are the most beautiful children I have ever seen,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “A son, a daughter and an adopted daughter, Rose.”

Riel had begun to realise just how much offence he was beginning to generate. Rostrel had written to various people in Lothlorien telling them of his life at the outpost and had praised their captain, Tauriel, an elf from Mirkwood. No-one had mentioned that she was married to a dwarf or that they had children. He found the whole thing rather disturbing and he even wondered if he could stay on at the outpost under the circumstances. It was almost unbelievable to him that a whole troop of elves found the situation completely acceptable.

They went to lunch and Riel took a back seat, watching the interaction between the elves and the dwarf. They were all very pleased to see him and they were all very relaxed in his company, laughing and joking and clapping him on the back. They asked him with some concern about their captain and showed a lot of sympathy for her exhaustion. (I bet the dwarf doesn’t do much to help, thought Riel.) Then they demanded a blow by blow account of the progress of his new daughter and seemed to take an especial pride in her. They were also keen to know when Arion and his warg would be visiting. His warg?! This family just got stranger and stranger. And there were lots of delighted chuckles and jokes about Rose, the adopted daughter, who sounded like some back-street scum. What was wrong with these elf lords, Riel thought? They should be ashamed of their association with a family that had no right to exist in the first place. He wondered how this Tauriel had come to make such a choice. Perhaps she was scarred or deformed so that no elf would consider her as a bride. How desperate did you need to be before you married a dwarf? Well, he would bite his tongue until he had worked out what was what. 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

That afternoon, Thorin took them all outside to practise shooting their bows from horseback. First they spent a long time improving on their ability to guide their horses with just their legs and knees and then they got out their bows and took turns to gallop past targets, shooting at them on the run. Thorin particularly insisted that they perfect their ability to deliver parting shots over their shoulders.

Riel grudgingly had to admit that Thorin was a good trainer and that, after some hours, he could see their improvement. But then Rostrel went inside and brought out short dwarven bows. “In some ways, they are better than our elven bows,” he explained to Riel.

Thorin then proceeded to show them how effective a dwarven bow could be from the back of a horse. “Because of their compact size,” continued Rostrel, “they’re easier to handle, particularly if you’re twisting around and firing over your shoulder.”

But Riel refused to be convinced. The bows seemed barbaric and he could hardly bear to handle the one he had been given. These soldiers were betraying their own culture, he thought to himself, and he hated Thorin for corrupting his fellow elves.

Later that afternoon, while they were all having a rest in the shade, he tried to discuss this with Lithin. “Don’t you feel it somehow inappropriate that all of you are so heavily influenced by a dwarf?” he asked.

Lithin blinked at him. “But he is such a marvellous person to emulate,” he said and Riel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What was this dwarf’s power? Was he using magic arts? What other explanation could there be that he held so many in thrall?

The evening passed pleasantly but Thorin noticed that Riel sat glowering in the shadows and he wondered how long it would take the elf to get over himself.

The next day, Thorin had them practising with a weapon in each hand. The only weapons they usually held in both hands were killing knives, otherwise they fought with a sword. But Thorin wanted them to try sword and axe together. The axe was his own weapon of choice and it was often considered to be a peculiarly dwarven one.

All of them, except Riel, had great fun trying to wield these two weapons at once and when they were all finally gasping on the ground with the tremendous effort it required to be effective and they had all admired Thorin giving a light-footed demonstration of how to do things properly, Lostwithiel laughed and said that he wasn’t going to let it defeat him but would start on a weight-lifting regime straight away. Thorin clapped him on the shoulder and admired his determination.

But Riel just became angrier. Why should elves learn how to fight like dwarves? Thorin was just trying to demean them and make them feel inadequate. He hated the dwarf and he even hated the rest of them for being so weak-willed that they allowed this creature to push them around and tell them what to do.

The conversation turned back to Poppy once more. She had been born whilst Tauriel had been visiting the outpost and they all felt very attached to the new baby.

“You know, Thorin,” said Lostwithiel, “we never really wetted the baby’s head. Don’t you think that those of us who are free should take you down to the Grey Havens this evening and have a good drinking session there? We could come back tomorrow morning.”

Thorin wasn’t so sure because the town always spelled trouble for him but they insisted and drew straws to see which of them should accompany him.

In the end, it was Lostwithiel, Lithin, Riel, Borondin and Rostrel who were the lucky ones and they all set out with Thorin late that afternoon.

When they arrived, they went off to the Silver Bear which had a reputation for good food. “Let’s line our stomachs first,” said Lithin. But Riel asked to be excused.

“I want to visit the couple who housed me when I first came to the Grey Havens six weeks ago. I’d like to see them again. They’ll probably feed me and I’ll catch up with the rest of you in a couple of hours,” he said.

But when he left the Silver Bear, Riel did not set out immediately for the residential area but for the back streets of the town where he hunted down an apothecary whom he had chanced to meet soon after his arrival. He bought an expensive phial of something interesting from him and only then went in search of the kindly couple who had given him bed and board.

Several hours later, back in the Silver Bear, Riel found everyone in a jolly mood. They had all had a good meal and little Poppy’s head was being wetted more times than she might have wished. “Let me buy a round,” said Riel and he went off to collect them all their choice of drinks. He set the round out on a tray and then carefully let one drop of purple liquid fall from the phial into Thorin’s glass. The elves and the dwarf all downed their drinks without Thorin detecting that his had been tampered with. Riel smiled to himself.

From then on, he generously bought round after round and also instigated a drinking competition which Thorin won amidst lots of cheering. Thorin was getting drunker and drunker but the elves knew, from experience, that he just got charmingly maudlin and usually had them all laughing. But tonight it was different. He began to glower into his cup and spoke sharply when any of them asked if he were all right.

“Of course I’m all right,” he snapped. “Are you suggesting that a dwarf can’t hold his drink as well as an elf?” Rostrel, who had asked the question, looked quite taken aback as Thorin slapped him down.

“N-n-o,” Rostrel stuttered. “I was just asking.”

“Then stop asking stupid questions and buy me another drink,” Thorin growled.

“I think, perhaps, that you’ve had enough,” said Lostwithiel gently.

“A dwarf has never had enough,” was the response. “And if you’re too mean to buy me a drink then I’ll get one myself.” And he staggered off to the bar.

The elves looked at each other in dismay. The evening was not going as they had planned. On his return journey to the table, an unsteady Thorin knocked against another customer, a great hulking fellow, and spilled his drink all over him. “You idiot!” yelled the dwarf. “Now look what you’ve made me do!” And, before the startled man could respond, Thorin knocked him flat on his back with a vicious swing to the jaw.

The man’s friends leapt to their feet, spoiling for a fight; the bartender moved threateningly from behind his bar with a large cudgel in his hand. But the elves also sprang forward and, full of apologies, pinioned Thorin’s arms and dragged him outside to the yard. The cold air hit him like a sledgehammer and he collapsed in a heap on the ground.

The elves stood there wide-eyed. “Well, I’ve never seen him behave like that before,” said Lithin. “Now what do we do?” And he nodded towards the crumpled form of the dwarf. 

“We could stay at the inn,” suggested Rostrel.

“I doubt if they’ll let us back in,” Riel interjected quickly. “But they might rent us that cart,” he said, nodding to a small wagon, “and we could get him back to the outpost.” He wanted Thorin back at the farmhouse mixing with as many of the elf-lords as possible.

And so they rented the cart and plodded back home, chatting in a desultory way amongst themselves.

“Why on earth did he behave like that?” asked Lostwithiel. “It was so out of character.”

“We just got him a bit too drunk,” said Lithin, pulling a face.

“I reckon it was his dwarven side making itself known,” said Riel.

“And what do you mean by that?” snapped Lostwithiel. He was pretty confident that Riel was having a go at his friend.

Riel shrugged. “Well, dwarves have a tendency to be bad-tempered and violent and that was a good demonstration tonight of dwarven character as far as I can tell.”

They all leapt to Thorin’s defence but Riel refused to be drawn any further and they all descended into a moody silence.

.o00o. 

Pt III

When they got back to the outpost in the early hours, Riel volunteered to help Lostwithiel put Thorin to bed. “He’ll be dehydrated when he wakes up tomorrow morning,” said Riel. “I’ll fetch him some water.” And he placed a mug of water, carefully adulterated with a purple droplet, by the side of the bed.

When Thorin surfaced the next day, he felt dreadful. He had a massive hangover – and then some. He reached for the water and drained the mug. Then he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. “How on earth did that happen?” he thought as his head throbbed and he tried to remember details of the previous evening.

The more he thought about things, the more he blamed the elf lords. They had practically poured drink down his throat with no concern at all for the state they were getting him into. Some friends! He wondered why he mixed with them. They were stupid elves and he might have known that they weren’t to be trusted. They had probably deliberately got him drunk so that he would make a fool of himself. And then that hulk of a man had made him spill his drink. He had really deserved that punch he had given him. Thorin remembered with satisfaction the sensation of his fist crunching against the man’s chin. He had enjoyed that. It was a really good feeling and perhaps he ought to punch a few more people a bit more often. He treated himself to some pleasurable thoughts about which of the elves he would like to punch and decided that there were so many of them that they would have to form an orderly queue.

Thorin finally dragged himself out of bed and down to breakfast. “How’re you feeling, Thorin?” asked Borondin cheerfully.

“How the hell do you think I’m feeling?” snarled the dwarf. Borondin was taken aback. The bad humour still seemed to be lingering on even though he must be sober now.

“Sorry,” he said and he scuttled away to the stables with his bowl of porridge in the hope of finding more amiable company there.

“Hi, there!” said Lostwithiel as he bounced into the kitchen. “I bet your head hurts this morning!”

“Too damn right it does, you stupid elf!” came the retort. “And if you’re not careful, you’ll get that punch on the nose I’ve been promising myself I’d give you for a long time now.”

Lostwithiel was shocked but also concerned by Thorin’s nasty response. Where was this anger coming from? What was causing it? Surely it wasn’t still to do with all that heavy drinking last night? Perhaps Thorin would pull himself together as the day advanced. But he couldn’t help but think about the remark that Riel had made about his dwarven behaviour.

When Thorin was feeling a bit better later that morning, he took them all out for a practice with staves. He considered that being able to fight with weapons that were not, in fact, proper weapons a very important skill. He himself had attacked the three trolls that he had met on his adventure with a brand pulled from the fire and he had also picked up a hollow log and used it as a shield when his own had shattered. A simple staff could be a lethal weapon if his pupils could learn to use it properly.

But, this particular morning, they all seemed to be really clumsy and slow. He took on one after the other and they were so pathetic that he got in strike after strike on their arms, legs and head without them managing to hit him once.

To the elves, Thorin seemed to be behaving like a demon. He growled and roared at them and his staff spun so quickly that it was a blur. And it really, REALLY hurt! He was supposed to be teaching them but, instead, he just seemed to be using them as his whipping boys.

“Right, Thorin, that’s enough,” Lostwithiel finally panted. His arms and legs were covered in bruises and he was far from being happy with this particular lesson. “I think it’s about time you showed us how to use our staves rather than just hitting us with your own.”

“What’s the matter, elf?” sneered Thorin. “Can’t you stand a little pain? Just come a bit closer, if you dare.”

And Lostwithiel clutched his staff and dared to move closer. For a short time, the elf put up a good defence, parrying Thorin’s vicious blows with some skill. But Thorin became more and more aggressive until, finally, he caught Lostwithiel such a thump around the ankles that he was swept to the ground. As he lay there, groaning, the dwarf descended upon him and began beating him around the shoulders with the heavy stick. “Get up, you coward,” he yelled, as he rained blow after blow down upon him.

“He’ll kill him!” gasped Lithin in horror and he stepped forward with his own staff in an attempt to deflect Thorin’s weapon. But Thorin turned on him instead and brought his stick down upon Lithin’s hand with a vicious sweep. Lithin screamed and clutched his hand to his chest. “You’ve broken my fingers!” he yelled.

The others were horrified and leaped forward between the two, their hands upraised. Thorin threw his staff down on the ground in disgust and marched off into the farmhouse.

The elves faced each other for a moment in horrified silence. “I don’t know what his problem is,” said Lostwithiel, as he was helped to his feet and Lithin was taken away for treatment, “but I think it’s about time he went home.”

“Yes,” said Riel, “his face full of concern, “but we’re sending him home to a woman and three children. I, for one, think that a couple of us ought to go with him until we know how he treats them.”

They all nodded their heads in agreement. “I don’t mind volunteering,” continued Riel. “I’ve got a reason to visit the forge. I’ve yet to meet our captain.”

They were all in agreement again. They didn’t want Thorin to think that they were stalking him.

“And I’m always visiting to see Poppy,” said Lostwithiel. “It won’t seem odd if I volunteer too.” And he limped off to his room to strap his ankles before confronting Thorin.

He did this as tactfully as possible. “I think the men have had enough for the day,” he told the dwarf. “They still haven’t recovered from our drinking session last night.” A sneer appeared on Thorin’s face. “And so, a couple of us would like to come back to the forge with you. Riel hasn’t met Tauriel and,” he said with a smile, “you know I’m always looking for an excuse to see your beautiful daughter.”

“Suit yourself,” said Thorin with a shrug.

And so, a few hours later, after some food, they all set off for the forge.

They rode in silence. Thorin seemed in no mood to talk to either of them and nor did they dare talk to him. Thorin was thinking that his head still hurt and that he wished that he were travelling on his own. 

On the other hand, did he want to go home? There was that wretched baby grizzling and crying, making demands on his time during the day and keeping him awake at night. And there was his son who only seemed interested in discussing his warg. A warg! How weird was that? And Thorin wondered whether or not he should kill it as his first instinct had told him to. He had been too generous when he had allowed the boy to keep it. 

And then there was Rose. That slut was always having a go at him. He had taken her in and fed and clothed her and yet she was always answering him back impudently. A good beating might set her right.

And his wife! Well, what was he to expect from an elf? She was weak. She spoiled the children, went easy on her troops up at the base and had refused to sleep with him since Poppy was born. Things were going to change in that department. She had run circles around him and he had been a fool to tolerate the situation for so long. And the more he thought about Tauriel, the more he found his desire for her increasing.

Lostwithiel felt only apprehension as they approached the forge. Things were not looking good. Thorin had ridden in sullen silence for the last couple of hours and he dreaded what would happen when they reached home.

Riel just smiled to himself. He didn’t think it would take many more days for the elves to decide that they no longer wanted anything more to do with their weapons trainer and he was optimistic that he could throw a very big spanner in the works as far as Thorin’s family were concerned.

They all dismounted as they entered the yard and Tauriel came smiling to the door.

“Where are the children?” asked Lostwithiel.

“Poppy’s asleep and the other two are fishing down at the river,” she replied. “I’m having a few quiet moments.”

“Not for much longer,” said Thorin and he swept her up into his arms and marched with her into the house.

“What are you doing?” giggled Tauriel, startled but amused.

“You’ll soon find out,” said Thorin, pushing open the bedroom door with his shoulder.

Lostwithiel stood with his mouth open. 

“Is this normally how he behaves with his wife?” asked Riel.

“This is normally how he would LIKE to behave with his wife,” murmured Lostwithiel, “but he’s certainly much too polite to do so.”

Then Poppy started to cry. “I’ll look after her,” said Lostwithiel, setting out for the baby’s room. “You go down to the river, Riel. Introduce yourself. Keep them busy down there – you know, show a massive interest in fishing or something.” And then the elf disappeared off into the house.

.o00o.

In the bedroom, Tauriel was lying there feeling rather stunned. Thorin was asleep and snoring by her side and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of what had just happened. He had been intense and passionate but strangely distant and even rough. And the way he had swept her away right under the noses of her guests......... She began to squirm with embarrassment at the thought of facing them again. She got up slowly from the bed and, tidying away the pile of torn clothing on the floor, got herself a fresh outfit from the cupboard.

Then, tentatively, she went to the door and took a deep breath before emerging into the hall. Lostwithiel was sitting there nursing Poppy and a flush travelled up Tauriel’s neck. Lostwithiel broke the uncomfortable silence.

“He’s been acting very strangely at the outpost,” he said, ”which is why we didn’t think it was safe to let him come home on his own.”

“Safe!” exclaimed Tauriel. “What on earth are you talking about?” She asked the question and yet she knew what the elf was talking about. Thorin had definitely felt very unsafe in her bed.

Lostwithiel made her sit down and then told her what had been happening since their evening at the Silver Bear. “He broke Lithin’s fingers?” she gasped.

“And he nearly broke my ankles,” said Lostwithiel and they both looked down at the strapping he had put on earlier.

“You’re frightening me,” she said. “What’s happened to him?”

And then he told her about the conversation he had had with Riel and explained that he was a new member of the troop. “He’s entertaining the children at the moment,” he said. “He’ll be along soon and you can have a chat with him.”

“What must he think of me?” said Tauriel, blushing again.

“He won’t think anything,” said Lostwithiel, “because he’s already witnessed Thorin’s strange behaviour.” 

.o00o. 

Pt IV

Riel was walking back to the forge from the river. He had entertained Rose and Arion very successfully and he was their new best friend. The elf lord had been feeling rather confused ever since seeing Tauriel. She was not deformed or ugly – in fact, she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Why she had been attracted to Thorin was completely beyond him and her loveliness – totally wasted on the dwarf – persuaded him even more strongly that there was a need to break up this marriage.

He thought about the way Thorin had swept her off to the bedroom as soon as he had set eyes on her. The dwarf was a barbarian, he thought, conveniently forgetting the part his little phial of purple liquid had played in that event. And now they were returning to the forge to witness the next act in the drama that he was so cunningly creating.

When they reached the hall house, they entered hand in hand and Arion excitedly introduced Riel to Tauriel who smiled and thanked him for looking after her children. She had calmed down by then and managed not to blush. “Has she no shame?” thought Riel.

“Where’s father?” asked Arion.

“Oh, just having a little nap,” his mother answered. And so Arion got out his ranks of toy elves and orcs and played with them quietly in the middle of the room. But Poppy, who had been nursed all this time by Lostwithiel, began to wake up and no amount of jiggling or rocking or back-patting would pacify her.

In the end, Thorin came stomping out of his bedroom and yelled: “For goodness’ sake, is no-one going to shut that brat up?”

“Thorin!” cried Tauriel aghast.

“You’re spoiling her,” he snapped. “Why on earth don’t you just put her down in her cot to scream? She’ll soon shut up when she’s learned that no-one will come!” And he strode forward to snatch the baby from Lostwithiel’s arms.

Tauriel leaped to her feet and stood between him and her child so that Thorin was forced to move sideways, stepping, as he did so, on a couple of Arion’s toy soldiers, crunching them underfoot. Arion jumped to his feet and yelled in distress: “Now look what you’ve done!”

Thorin glared down at him and then slowly and deliberately trod on several ranks of soldiers, grinding them with his boot.

Arion flew at his father, pummelling him on the chest and screaming, but Thorin just seized him by the scruff of the neck and flung him across the room. Tauriel ran to scoop up the crying Arion and rushed outside with him, closely followed by Lostwithiel who was still clutching Poppy in his arms. Thorin just threw himself down in a chair and snarled at Rose, “Get me a drink, you useless creature, or you’ll get a back-hander too!”

“Don’t worry,” whispered Riel to her. “I’ll fetch it. You go and join your mother.” And he made for the kitchen, fingering the phial in his pocket.

But Rose backed quietly into a corner and studied Thorin thoughtfully. He had just behaved like a totally different person from the one she knew he was and in that wretched time before, that time when she had lived with her father, she had seen similar unnatural changes of behaviour in back-street taverns and these had been induced by something dropped in an unsuspecting victim’s drink. It pumped them up; it made them angry and violent. And she wondered why anyone would want to do this to Thorin. But, done it someone definitely had and she could see that his pupils were like pin-pricks.

“What’re you staring at?” Thorin shouted at her.

“I’m just waiting to help Riel,” she said quietly and he turned away.

Riel brought in a tray with a mug of wine on it. He set it on the table and Rose leaped up to hand it to Thorin . “Here you are,” she said and she grabbed the mug but stumbled as she stretched out her hand and dropped it on the floor. Both Thorin and Riel cursed and Thorin aimed a clout at her. But she was ready and she ducked. “I’ll fetch you some more,” she said and, picking up the mug, she raced out to the kitchen.

“Next time,” thought Riel and made his exit into the yard in order to stir things with Tauriel.

Tauriel was outside, sitting on the bench with Lostwithiel and Poppy. She had sent Arion off to the stables to have a cuddle with Dog and Warg whilst she thought about what best to do. She was stunned by what had just happened and tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Riel sat down next to her and took her hand. “I’m afraid I’ve seen something like this happen before,” he said gently. “I knew a dwarf who was forced to live with elves and men instead of with his own kind. He was a decent fellow and we all liked him. But, one day, he went totally berserk – he was very strong and he hurt a lot of people.”

“But why?” whispered Tauriel.

“He had repressed his dwarven nature for so long,” came the answer, “trying to fit in with two totally different cultures, that, one day, it just drove him mad and he became someone completely different from what he had been before. His dwarven characteristics – the temper and the violence – became exaggerated.”

“And what happened to him?” Tauriel asked anxiously.

“I’m afraid,” said Riel with a good show of compassion, “that he never returned to being the dwarf we had known and loved before. He became very dangerous and we had to send him away.”

Tauriel felt sick. She remembered Thorin trying to tell them, just before Poppy was born, that he was a dangerous person to be with. And, perhaps this is what he had meant. Her world was crashing around her and she couldn’t bear it. “What shall I do?” she asked, clinging onto Riel’s hand as if he knew the answer.

“If you care for the safety of your children,” he said sadly, “and for your own safety,” and he gently touched the fresh bruises on her arm, “then you must pack quickly and seek refuge somewhere like Rivendell.”

Tauriel looked horrified as Lostwithiel began to nod his head in agreement. But, before the matter could be discussed any further, a sweating horse galloped into the yard and Darri, Rose’s dwarven friend, jumped from the saddle. “Thank goodness you’re all here!” he gasped. “Didn’t you see the flare go up? There’s a pack of orcs to the east of you, burning down farmhouses and setting fire to the crops.” And he pointed to the eastern sky. “Look, you can see the smoke from here!”

Thorin and Rose had appeared at the door. “What are we waiting for?” Thorin said. Then he and Riel dashed for their weapons and their horses whilst Lostwithiel handed Poppy to Rose and followed them closely behind. Tauriel called Darri to her and asked him to stay with Rose and the children because she felt that the troop would need her presence too and then, grabbing her bow and her knives, she also made for the stables.

They turned east at the crossroads and galloped at speed towards the smoke cloud that loomed before them. The orcs had obviously circled around from the north and, on the road, they met the occasional refugee from the farmhouses fleeing before them. “They caught us by surprise,” they said.

Thorin had begun to feel a bit better. The headache that had persisted since the session at the Silver Bear had lifted and he was managing to focus in a way that he had been unable to do for the past 24 hours. Recent events seemed a bit of a blur and he had vague memories of shouting a lot and striking out at just about everyone. These memories were as confusing as a bad dream and, as he rode, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it. There was a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was sure that he had done some unforgiveable things to those who were dearest to him but, at the moment, he couldn’t remember exactly what. It hurt to dredge through these thoughts and so he pushed it all to the back of his mind and concentrated on the battle to come.

They passed half a dozen more refugees, farm labourers armed with mallets and sickles. “They’re just at the next farm,” they said. “There were too many for us but now you’ve come, it’s a more equal fight.” And they turned around and came with the riders.

A group of about 30 orcs were burning hayricks as they approached the farm. Thorin and Lostwithiel nocked their dwarven bows and rode into their midst whilst Tauriel and Riel shot their elven bows from the side-lines. Riel had to admit that the dwarven bows, which were being very skilfully used by the elf lord and the dwarf, had a devastating effect and, by the time the two of them had ridden through the attacking mob, at least ten lay dead on the ground. And then, having exhausted their arrows, all four leaped from their horses and drew their weapons. Tauriel had her knives, Lostwithiel and Riel wielded their swords and Thorin unhitched both Orcrist and his axe. The six labourers barrelled in behind them, bravely defending the warriors’ backs.

The orcs fell before them but, suddenly, Thorin noticed out of the corner of his eye that Riel was trying to fight off three attackers and so he quickly despatched his own enemy and rushed to the elf’s aid. And none too soon. Two of them had pinned him to the ground and the third was about to run him through. But, swinging both his weapons, Thorin decapitated two with his axe and killed the third with his sword. Riel lay wide-eyed upon the ground as the three bodies dropped around him. Thorin grinned and pulled him to his feet. “It’s all over,” he said.

They praised the labourers for their courage. “You did well,” said Thorin and they all looked very pleased with themselves.

And then they rode back to the forge.

Darri and the children came rushing out to meet them and Tauriel gathered Rose and Arion into her arms. Thorin stepped forward laughing and opened his arms to Arion but the boy backed away. Thorin looked confused although an inkling of what he had done began to surface. But Rose took him by the shoulders and stared carefully into his eyes. And then she gave him a hug. Turning to Tauriel who was standing by with an apprehensive look on her face, she said, “He’s all right now.” And then Tauriel came hesitantly forward and kissed him in relief.

“Your father is back to normal, Arion,” she said. And Thorin picked his son up and Arion buried his face in his father’s neck.

“I’ll get us all a celebratory drink,” said Riel with a forced voice and he rushed off to get a tray. 

When he returned, he handed Thorin a mug first. “No,” said Rose. “I think that one’s yours.” They all turned to Rose in surprise but Rose stood firm. “Drink it, Riel,” she said. The elf hesitated and then put the mug slowly down.

“You’ve guessed,” he said. “And that’s why you spilled the drink earlier today.” Rose nodded.

“What’s going on, Rose?” said Tauriel.

“Riel has been drugging Thorin and I’d like to know why,” the girl replied.

Everyone gaped and all eyes turned back to the elf lord.

For a moment, Riel looked embarrassed and then he tossed his head arrogantly. “What I did was for everyone’s benefit,” he said. “This dwarf” – and he almost spat out the word – “has no right to be a part of our elven troop and he certainly has no right to be married to one of us or to produce children. Instead of feeling shame, you let him control your lives,” he said, turning to Lostwithiel. “And you,” he continued, casting a disgusted look at Tauriel, “share a bed with him.” Tauriel drew herself up and slipped an arm around her husband. “You have forgotten your dignity and your culture and so I gave him a drug that just enhanced his natural tendencies so that your eyes would be opened and you would cast him off.”

“But he saved your life!” exclaimed Tauriel.

“A dog could save my life,” said the elf. “I owe him nothing.”

“I think,” said Lostwithiel quietly, “that you’d better collect your stuff from the outpost and leave.”

“Don’t worry,” said Riel. “I have no intention of staying. But, let me tell you,” he continued as his eyes swept over them scornfully, “Galadriel will hear of this when I get back to Lothlorien.”

“And Galadriel will rejoice at your tidings,” said Lostwithiel. “Her mind is great enough to be glad that such friendships and love exist here in Ered Luin between elf and dwarf.”

Then Riel turned on his heel and left.

Thorin looked very upset. “You can’t win ‘em all,” said Lostwithiel sadly. And then they all had a group hug.

.o00o. 

That night, as he lay in Tauriel’s arms, Thorin wept as he gradually remembered all the dreadful things he had said and done.

“But that wasn’t you, Thorin. It was the drug,” said Tauriel gently.

Thorin wasn’t convinced. “Riel said that the drug just enhanced who you really are. And so it was still me but in an exaggerated form.”

“Rubbish!” she said firmly. “It didn’t exaggerate but changed you completely. You are absolutely nothing like that monster we saw today.”

And with gentle kisses and soft words, she gradually eased his pain and wiped away his tears and then Thorin was himself again.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Flood. But is Thorin himself again after that nasty incident? I don’t think so. That was a traumatic experience and it may have affected his self-confidence in more ways than one.


	14. Thorin and the Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Riel, the elf lord, messed with Thorin’s life in last week’s story, there are ramifications. Are they what you might expect? Riel appears to have messed with Thorin’s head as well as with his life and now he’s having trouble in bed.

Thorin and the Flood  
Pt I

Tauriel lay in bed wide awake. She hadn’t felt so upset since she had found Thorin half-naked on the floor with the dwarf-woman, Kagris, in his arms. That had been a shock but it had been resolved in a matter of hours. This situation had been going on for months and still showed no signs of resolution. It had happened again tonight – as it happened every night. She had climbed into bed with Thorin and had tried to take him in her arms; but he had given her a quick peck on the cheek and had then turned his back on her. There had been moments in their life together when they had both lain there, pretending to be asleep. But he wasn’t pretending and his snoring both distressed and irritated her.

She moulded herself to his back and stroked his powerful arms. He was so beautiful - the love of her life – and she wanted him to turn towards her and give her that lovely, sensuous smile; and then she wanted him to crush her to his great chest and whisper those naughty things he always did in that deep, vibrant voice, things that always made her giggle and lifted her heart and made her feel the most desirable elf in Middle-earth. But his back remained firmly turned.

After Poppy had been born nearly 10 months ago, they had both accepted that love-making probably wouldn’t happen until she was sleeping through the night and they weren’t so utterly exhausted with parenthood. As had happened after Arion, it was Tauriel who fell asleep in Thorin’s arms the moment her head touched the pillow and Thorin had been patient and supportive. But, when Poppy was three months, there had been that ugly incident in their lives when Thorin had been preyed upon by the elf lord, Riel, and he had swept her off to the bedroom and made love to her very roughly in a drugged state. That had interrupted their progress towards normality for a while. Then, at six months, Poppy began to sleep through and her days were also becoming more regulated. Thorin and Tauriel managed to snatch the odd passionate kiss together and life seemed to be returning to normal.

It was about this time that Tauriel, getting ready for bed one night, suddenly realised that she no longer felt sucked dry by the demands of motherhood but that she was ready to return to her old life which involved being both a wife and a lover. She grinned to herself and slid under the sheets without donning her nightgown. This would give Thorin a pleasant surprise, she thought. Thorin was checking on their three sleeping children and when he got into bed ten minutes’ later, he laughed delightedly. “Ah,” he sighed, drawing her to him, “does this mean that my patience is at last being rewarded?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “You certainly deserve a present for being such a perfect husband and father.” And she seized him by the plaits and pulled his mouth down upon her own. She had kissed him long and passionately and he seemed to return her passion in equal measure but, suddenly, he had gently kissed her hair and stroked her face and said apologetically that he was the tired one tonight and then he had turned over and gone to sleep.

Poor Thorin, she had thought. But, the next night it had been the same. And the night after that he was already asleep when she had got into bed. And the night after that he had taken so long to come to bed that she had fallen asleep waiting for him. And the following night, he had pecked her on the cheek and turned his back on her without even a preliminary cuddle. And so it had gone on for months now.

Tauriel had at first told herself to show the same kind of patience that Thorin had been showing her all this time. How could she complain? But, in the end, after eight weeks of this had gone by, she tried to speak to him. He was lying with his back to her as usual but she pressed herself against him and slid her arm around his waist. “Thorin, my love,” she whispered, and Thorin grunted. “I don’t feel tired any more when we come to bed at night.” And she covered his shoulders with little kisses. Then she told him how much she loved him and how much she wanted and needed him. She spoke quite eloquently for at least five minutes....And then she realised that he was fast asleep.

And so she had gone back to waiting patiently for him.

During the day, life seemed quite normal. He played and laughed with the children and helped teach Poppy how to walk. He worked hard in his forge and occasionally spent time in the Grey Havens collecting new commissions. He looked after the children whilst she went up to the outpost and Tauriel occasionally looked after them whilst he put in a bit of weapons training with her men. He smiled and chatted with her and helped her around the house when he could. But, at night, he turned away and fell quickly asleep. Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, she would be awoken by Thorin showing signs of sleepy desire but, when she eagerly responded, he would gradually draw away from her and eventually turn his back once more. 

 

Tauriel began to wonder if it was just tiredness that lay behind all this or whether or not there was another problem. She knew she ought to speak to him again but it was proving a difficult subject to raise. There never seemed an appropriate moment during the day with three children running in and out and he fell asleep so quickly at night. 

Once, when Dis was visiting, helping with the children as usual, she had almost discussed things with this most sensible dwarf woman. 

“Did you have trouble with your, er, love-life, Dis, after the boys were born?” she ventured one day.

“You mean, with tiredness? Like you had with Arion? You’re not still tired after all these months, are you?” she asked.

“Umm, no,” Tauriel replied.

“That’s good,” said Dis in an absent-minded way. And it somehow seemed wrong for Tauriel to discuss her husband’s problems, so she had stopped there.

But Dis had thought about things after this brief conversation, and, good woman that she was, tried to help the couple out. One day, whilst she was at the forge, Thorin came in from working on his commissions to eat lunch only to find Dis waiting for him and Tauriel with a basket.

“I’ve packed some lovely food for you,” she said. “Why don’t you two take a break and go and have a picnic down by the river? I’ll keep the children occupied,” she added pointedly.

Tauriel smiled her thanks. What a thoughtful thing for Dis to do! But she noticed that Thorin didn’t look half as keen.

“I’ve got to get some jewellery finished,” he muttered. 

“Oh, tosh!” said Dis. “Go and soak up some of this lovely sunshine and have a paddle or something. It’ll give you the energy to work a bit longer this evening.” And she pushed them out the door. 

It was totally beautiful by the side of the river. It had been raining all the previous week and now the water ran pure and clear over the stones. When Tauriel opened the basket to get out the food, she saw, with a grin, that Dis had also packed a couple of towels. She held them up gleefully. “Let’s go for a swim,” she said. “It’ll be just like that time when we were first betrothed and we camped beside the river on our way to Thranduil’s palace!” And she gave him a look from under her lashes.

“You can take a dip if you like,” said Thorin. “I think I’ll eat first.” And he sat down under a tree.

Well, thought Tauriel, if you won’t join me then I shall have to give you something worth looking at.

And she blithely stripped off all her clothing and skipped down to the river where she splashed in the shallows and flicked water at Thorin. She looked quite spectacularly beautiful but, when Thorin made no move to join her and she began to feel cold, she strolled back up to where he was sitting and threw herself down on the grass next to him. He seemed to be concentrating on eating his sandwich and so she reached out her hand and squeezed his thigh.

“You should get dry now,” he said, “before you catch your death of cold,” and he draped one of the towels around her shoulders. She made one more attempt, standing up and slowly drying herself in front of him. But his eyes flickered away from her and she finally gave up, got dressed and sat down with him to eat some food. He seemed to relax then and chatted to her amiably until they had finished eating and it was time to return to the forge.

“Was that nice?” asked Dis.

“Yes, very nice,” he said and then he returned to his work.

“Thank you, Dis,” said Tauriel quietly and Dis wondered what had happened down on the river bank.

.o00o.

Pt II

Tauriel’s next thought – although she shied away from thinking it – was that there was another woman in Thorin’s life. She found this almost impossible to believe when she thought about the depth of their love but, perhaps, after she had been so tired and had fallen asleep herself night after night, Thorin had become lonely. He had had plenty of opportunities to meet new women down in the Grey Havens where he went regularly on his own and she felt the need to chase this up. She had another chat with Dis who volunteered to look after the children once more whilst Tauriel accompanied Thorin on his next trip to the Grey Havens. “I need a little break,” she said to him and she thought he looked a bit unhappy at her news.

The journey there was quite miserable. It was raining heavily again and their horses plodded wretchedly through the downpour and the mud. It seemed as though there had scarcely been a dry day in the past few months.

It was a relief to get to the Elf and Orc, a reasonable inn near the town centre. Thorin avoided the Mithril Crown since his bad experience in the rear yard when he had been attacked and battered and warned off the ladies of the town and this place had been recommended to him. Well, it’s clean, he thought, as he looked around the simple room. And, more importantly, the bed was large. He wouldn’t have to press too closely to Tauriel.

He had an invitation to a social gathering that night and this was where he hoped to pick up a few more commissions. Perhaps Tauriel could use her beauty and charm to encourage a few potential customers, he thought, so her presence wasn’t entirely an inconvenience. But, he wished she hadn’t come.

They had brought appropriate clothing with them and they decked themselves out in all their finery that evening and set off for a substantial house owned by one of the rich burghers of the town. Thorin was soon mixing with those who had given him work in the past and who wanted a bit more from him and with those who had been recommended by his old customers. Tauriel watched from the sidelines. Most of his old customers were men, she noted, but she paid particular attention to the women, on the lookout for any suspicious behaviour.

Suddenly, a middle-aged man sidled up to her. He was very richly dressed but he was big and burly and not the sort of person that she would normally have associated with. “The name’s Ned Dawkins and you, I believe, are married to Thorin Oakenshield.”

She nodded in surprise and he continued, looking across the room to where Thorin was standing: “My daughter, Elspeth, is here tonight so this is just a warning. Keep your eye on your husband and make sure he doesn’t get up to any of his old tricks.” And he nodded across the room to where a strapping but good-looking girl in her twenties was standing. “She still can’t keep her eyes off him,” he growled. “And, for all I know, he still can’t keep his hands off her. You might not know it but I caught them with their clothes half off once, and in my own house. So, I’m relying on you, madam, to keep them apart.” He moved away then, leaving Tauriel standing in shocked silence. The man was right. Elspeth was staring hotly at Thorin and seemed unable to tear her eyes away.

Tauriel felt sick. When they had moved into the town temporarily a few years ago, Thorin had charmed all the ladies of the town one night with his singing. And then, one evening, he had returned home with bruised ribs and a battered face, saying that he had been given a warning by a group of husbands and fathers to get out of the Grey Havens. And so, they had left, but it had never occurred to Tauriel that Thorin was anything more than an innocent victim. And now, she was not so sure.

Elspeth began to move across the room, making her way towards Thorin but Tauriel got to his side first. “I’m very tired,” she whispered in his ear. “Are you ready to go back to the inn yet?” Thorin was ready and he bowed to his customers and made arrangements to visit them individually the next day. But Elspeth blocked their exit route.

“Hello, Thorin,” she said in a silly, sultry voice, totally ignoring Tauriel. “Are you going? What a pity we can’t spend some time together this evening.” Thorin flushed and, looking very uncomfortable, muttered some social niceties and edged his wife from the room.

“Who was that woman?” Tauriel couldn’t help but ask.

“Oh, no-one,” he muttered. “Just someone called Elspeth, the daughter of a ship-owner in the town. I did a small amount of work for her once.” And then he changed the subject. 

Back at the inn, their night together was no different from what it was at home. And Tauriel lay awake thinking miserable thoughts.

The next morning, Thorin paid a few visits to discuss commissions and then they set off back to the forge in the bucketing rain once more. Tauriel gave her husband a bit of a verbal poke: “Are you glad I came with you?” she said.

“Yes,” he grunted without conviction and Tauriel didn’t believe him.

Once they were back home and Dis had left, Tauriel tried to shake off her suspicions. She was a modest person but even she could appreciate that she was much more beautiful than Elspeth. And yet, whispered a little voice, Elspeth, although human, had that junoesque earthiness that was a sought after feature of dwarven beauty and perhaps Thorin had been reminded of his first infatuation with Kagris. And, what was the use of a beautiful elf in your bed if she had spent months tired and asleep instead of awake and willing? She wondered if she had lost him then and if it was too late to win him back. But she refused to give up and so she tried again.

The next night, she got the children off to bed, changed into an attractively clinging dress, cooked a delicious late supper and cracked open a bottle of the best wine: not too much, though, she thought as she poured him a glass. Then she asked him to play on his harp whilst she danced for him. He had seen her dance for the first time at Thranduil’s palace and it had aroused his desire for her. She hadn’t danced for him since but tonight seemed like an excellent moment. And she grinned to herself.

Thorin played a slow and sensuous tune and he became glued to her performance. Before he had reached the end of the music, his fingers began to tremble and he stumbled to a halt. They gazed at each other longingly in the candlelight and then he picked her up and carried her to their room. “At last,” thought Tauriel and a huge wave of relief washed over her.

They lay together on the bed, looking passionately into each other’s eyes and then they kissed fiercely. Thorin rolled on top of her and Tauriel, fumbling with his buttons, almost ripped his shirt from his shoulders . But, as he also tore away at her clothing, his pace began to slacken until he was gently kissing her throat and softly stroking her hair. Eventually, he came to a complete halt and said with a guilty laugh: “Sorry, Tauriel, I think I drank too much of that wine.” Then he got up, changed into his nightshirt and went to sleep as usual.

Tauriel could have wept. So near and yet so far. Tomorrow she was due up at the outpost for an entire week and perhaps absence would make the heart grow fonder. The children were going on a visit to the dwarven settlement and Thorin would be all on his own. Perhaps he would be more appreciative of her company once she eventually returned. But, there was a cold feeling about her heart.

The next morning they all waved her off – and it was pouring with rain still. Thorin was escorting the children to Dis’ home later that day and then he would have a whole week without her. And he couldn’t help but feel an absolute sense of profound relief. 

.o00o.

Pt III

Thorin returned from leaving his family at the dwarven settlement that evening, shut the door behind himself and, sitting down at the dining table, placed his head in his hands. He wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could cope with this and he felt like weeping. Every night he spent in bed with Tauriel, he kept hoping that things would be better, but every night it was the same.

For months, he hadn’t realised that there was a problem because Tauriel went to sleep every night in his arms and he would gently kiss her in the knowledge that, one day, she would wake up and no longer feel exhausted. He had not felt hard done by because having Poppy had been something they had both wanted and they were prepared to make the typical sacrifices that all parents made.

And then, one night, he had got into bed with Tauriel and, there she was, looking seductively up at him and her nightgown was on the floor. He had laughed gleefully, drawn her to him and buried his face in her neck. But, just as they were kissing passionately and he was building up a head of steam, suddenly he had experienced a flashback to that moment three months earlier when, in response to the drugs that Riel had been feeding him, he had made love to her in a brutal and totally unexpected way. She had never complained, never blamed him and had talked to him gently about it so that he thought he had accepted what had happened to him. But, now, with Tauriel in his arms once more, images of that horrible time flashed searingly before his eyes and all desire drained from him. He felt ashamed and embarrassed that he couldn’t complete the act and so he had claimed he was tired and had turned away from her.

The images came back night after night to haunt him and, night after night, he pretended to go to sleep. When it was obvious that nothing was going to change, he began to take a sedative, obtained from the Grey Havens, before he came to bed and then he knew that he really would go to sleep quickly without having to fake things.

Sometimes, when he was asleep, he would dream about her and he would gradually surface to find himself holding her tightly in his arms and his body aching with his need for her. But, as Tauriel also began to wake up and her hands started to caress him, it was back to square one again.

He wondered what was going through Tauriel’s head and just hoped that she would think that the strain of the three children and all the work that was on his plate at the moment was making him exhausted in the same way that she had been exhausted too. But, she’d certainly been trying with him. That picnic down by the river had been an absolute torment. He had kept his eyes turned away from her and had studied his food. Briefly, he had wondered if the beautiful outdoor setting had changed things but her hand on his thigh had stopped the breath in his throat – and had afforded him another flashback. He had covered her with a towel and both the distressing images and his desire had receded.

And then she had danced for him, the sedative had been forgotten and his need for her rose like a fire through him. He had swept her off in his arms to their bed and he had wanted her so much......but, at the critical moment, the flashback happened again.... and.... and...... Thorin didn’t want to think about it because it hurt too much. And that was why he was so relieved that she was off to the outpost for a whole seven days and he didn’t have to torment himself for a week. He had thought about telling her when she came back but he couldn’t bear to. If he could no longer express his love for her in a physical way, then surely she would stop loving him?

Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her and yearning for her and so he got himself a cup of wine and then another one and another until he passed out on the table.

Tauriel, meanwhile, had made her rain-sodden way up to the outpost. She couldn’t stop thinking about Thorin and her heart was broken. He didn’t love her any more, she was certain, but when she got back home next week she would have one last try – she would talk to him in an effort to find out what was going on. Having made this decision, she tried to put things to the back of her mind.

She was pleased to reach the outpost because she felt surrounded by affection there and it was balm to her wounded soul. Her men saluted her smartly but once she told them to be at ease, they relaxed into their normal, friendly manner and their warmth and love for her shone in their faces. They fussed around her making her feel wanted and needed. They had made a lovely meal for her and wanted to know all about Thorin, Arion, Rose and Poppy. Warg was also a popular topic of conversation and it was as if they embraced her whole family.

Early the next morning, the night patrol returned absolutely wet to the skin even though they had been wearing their elven cloaks. The rain continued to be torrential and they all stared out at it gloomily because it just wasn’t the sort of weather that encouraged anyone to go outside and practise their skills. Tauriel talked to the night patrol about the conditions higher up in the hills.

“The moorland above us has been soaking up water like a sponge,” said Rostrel, “and it’s really squelchy to walk on. I don’t see how the ground can hold much more.”

Tauriel looked worried because she had seen this set of circumstances once before: the ground gets waterlogged; there is another huge downpour; the water has nowhere to go except into the river; the river swells and bursts its banks – and then there are floods which are accompanied – most frighteningly of all – by a great surge so powerful that it carries all before it! 

“What state’s the river in?” she asked Lostwithiel. It was the same river that ran past the outpost and then on down to the forge. 

“A bit turbulent when I looked last,” the elf lord replied.

“I think I’d better have a look too,” she said and they went together to check out the stream.

As soon as she saw the river, Tauriel was worried. It was very high and plunged and crashed and foamed, just about contained within its bounds. The rain was pelting down and suddenly she had a very bad feeling about the forge. “I’m sorry to leave as soon as I’ve got here, Lostwithiel, but I think I’d better go and warn Thorin,” she said. 

The elf lord nodded in agreement. “I think you’d better go straight away,” he replied. 

And so, Tauriel packed a bag and saddled her horse and, as quickly as possible, hastened back down the hillside.

.o00o.

Pt IV

As she approached the forge, Tauriel wasn’t surprised to find her horse splashing ankle deep in water. The river had obviously broken its banks and, the nearer she got to home, the higher it became. By the time she reached the yard, the flood water was up to the horse’s knees. She had to get them both out of here, she thought, and hoped that Thorin had already left. But, his horse was still in the stable, kicking at the door and looking quite agitated, and the shutters to the house were closed.

She struggled through the water to the door and hammered on it, calling Thorin’s name, but there was no answer. Surely he wasn’t still asleep? The water rose steadily and she had to make a decision. In the end, she undid her pack from the horse and threw it up onto the roof of the forge. Then, she let Thorin’s horse out of the stable and, slapping its rump and that of her own, chased them from the yard in the direction of higher ground. Then she went back to her banging and shouting.

Yes, Thorin was still in a drunken sleep, his head resting on the dining table. The close-fitting, sturdy door had kept out much of the water but it had begun to ripple around his ankles and that, together with the noise that Tauriel was making, finally roused him from his bad dreams. He staggered across the room in a confused state and opened the door, letting in a chest-high wall of water. Thorin was knocked off his feet and Tauriel was swept into the room. She managed to find her balance first and helped the dwarf up out of the water.

“The river’s flooded!” she yelled. “I let the horses go. We’ve got to get up on the roof!”

Hand in hand, half swimming, they made their way outside. The water was now up to their chins and the low roof-line of the forge was almost within reach. Thorin lifted her up and she scrambled to temporary safety. She reached down to help him up too, but he needed little assistance because the flood had now reached the gutter. 

“We’ll have to get up on the main roof!” Thorin gasped as she grabbed her belongings.

Fortunately, the slope of the forge roof was very steep and from the ridge, with a boost from Thorin, Tauriel managed to reach the roof of the house. She withdrew an elven rope from her pack and, tying it around the chimneystack, threw it down to Thorin and he scrambled up too.

Tauriel left the rope in position. “We’ll sit astride the ridge, Thorin,” she said, “with our backs to the stack and we’ll tie ourselves on. I don’t know how much worse this will get.”

Thorin sat down first with his back to the chimney; then Tauriel sat in front of him, her back leaning against his chest, and knotted the rope. From their lofty position, they had a good view of the land all around them. It was as if they were an island marooned in a lake of water. The tops of trees emerged above the surface and they could see over them to what had once been the river, defined now only by the willows that lined the banks.

They both stared around themselves, aghast. Suddenly, Tauriel pointed upriver and yelled: “Hold on! Here it comes!” Thorin looked in the direction of her finger and his eyes widened to see a great wall of water sweeping down the river from the hills. The bore pushed the surrounding floodwater into a tidal wave and, as it reached the house, the wave passed over them and the roof. If it hadn’t been for the rope, they would have been swept away.

They emerged, spluttering, but still in one piece. The water was now up to the gutter of the main house. But, it had stopped raining, the clouds were parting and a shaft of sunlight was beginning to break through. They both heaved a sigh of relief.

Tauriel fumbled with the rope. “Don’t undo it yet,” Thorin said. “It’s still not safe.” And he pulled her firmly back against his chest. She had held on tightly to her pack as the wave had passed over them and now she drew out a dry elven cloak which she lay over both of them and also took out some lembas and a flask of wine.

“I think we could do with this,” she said, as she divided the way bread between them and offered him a swig from the bottle.

“Do you remember?” he whispered in her ear.

Yes, she remembered that night at the forge when they had shared lembas and cram and wine. It was the moment of their first meeting. She reached up behind her and ran her hand down a plait that brushed against her cheek. “I think I loved you even then,” she replied.

“You were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen,” he said. “But I could have wrung your neck.” And they laughed softly together as they remembered the misunderstandings of that time. Thorin pulled Tauriel even more tightly against his body and nuzzled her neck. She had come to save him and she might have died. A shudder of horror ran through him at the thought of losing her.

“Are you cold?” asked Tauriel as she felt him shiver.

“No,” he said. “I was just suddenly afraid of what I might have lost.” And he kissed her neck.

“I was frightened too,” she said softly and she turned her head and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

Thorin grinned wryly to himself. If only they were on the riverbank in the sunshine like the other day at this precise moment instead of being perched astride the ridge of a roof. But, holding his wife in his arms like this, in a tight embrace, he felt happier than he had been for a long time.

They sat there in the sun for several hours, cuddling into each other and whispering together. It was uncomfortable up there on the roof, but they were spending such a close and loving time in each other’s company that they hardly noticed.

“Do you remember our first time in Lake Town?” asked Tauriel.

Thorin rolled his eyes up. “I was so clumsy,” he said. “I really didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Well, that made two of us,” she laughed.

And then she stroked his hand and, lifting it to her lips, opened his fingers and planted a kiss upon his palm.

“I didn’t find you clumsy,” she said shyly. “I thought you were tender and gentle. You made me feel loved and desired and cherished. It was the most wonderful experience and I didn’t want that night to end.”

Thorin suddenly felt shy too. It wasn’t often that he spoke about his deepest feelings for his wife. “My love for you that night was like a pain,” he whispered. “The aching and the need hurt deep down inside me because I knew I had to leave you. And you were so beautiful.” He bent and brushed her neck with the lightest of kisses.

“How lucky we are,” she sighed. And she stretched her head back against his shoulder and his lips pressed against her throat.

They sat quietly together for some time, watching the sunlight glitter on the water. But then Tauriel asked the question she had been wanting to ask: “Did Elspeth mean anything to you?”

Thorin laughed uproariously. “She meant a very embarrassing moment in a rich trader’s house, if you really want to know,” he said. And he told her how Elspeth had pinned him to the wall and he had managed to escape her clutches by the skin of his teeth. In the end, as she pictured it, Tauriel laughed too.

“I have another question,” Tauriel said quietly.

“Which is?” murmured Thorin, kissing her hair and the enchanting tip of her ear.

“I want to know,” said Tauriel, “why we haven’t made love in such a long time?”

Thorin suddenly stilled and fell silent but Tauriel pressed on.

“This is really important, Thorin. Why do you turn away from me in bed and go to sleep? I thought we agreed some time ago on the importance of talking to each other.” Thorin said nothing but Tauriel didn’t press him. She sensed that he was gearing himself up to reveal the truth. Finally, he murmured quietly in her ear.

“I love you so much, Tauriel. And that was a dreadful thing I did to you under the influence of Riel’s drugs. Really dreadful. I don’t seem to be able to get past it. And every time I try to make love to you, I get a flashback. It’s horrible. And....and....I lose all my desire.” He sighed and buried his face in her neck in shame. “And what use is a lover who can’t make love?”

Tauriel reached up and stroked his face. “You stupid, stupid dwarf,” she said. “This is something we should be working on together. But how can we do that if you won’t talk to me?” She turned her face again and kissed him fiercely. 

She wriggled backwards a few more inches along the roof ridge, pressing herself even more firmly against him. “I wish we were in bed together,” she whispered.

“Just what I’ve been thinking,” he murmured. He nibbled her ear and told her all the naughty things he would like to do to her, once they were in bed again. Tauriel giggled and stroked his thigh. Then she twisted in his arms and, seizing him by one of his plaits, she pulled his lips down upon her own. Under the elven cloak, Thorin reached for her. 

“Yoo-hoo!” came Lostwithiel’s voice. “Are you two OK up there?”

They broke away from each other, startled. And, there were Lostwithiel and Lithin in a rowing boat.

“It’s the rescue party,” the elf lord laughed.

“And what if we don’t want to be rescued at this precise moment?” Thorin growled.

“Well,” we can always come back in half an hour,” Lithin grinned.

But Tauriel untied them both from the stack and they edged down the roof and into the boat. The elves rowed them to higher ground where a group of horses were waiting, including their own. “They galloped up to the outpost,” said Lithin, “so we knew something was wrong.”

And then they rode back to the farmhouse.

“The water level is beginning to drop already,” said Lostwithiel. “Your house will be a mess but some of us elves will come and help clear it up and, once you get the dwarves working on it, I’m sure it will be quickly sorted.”

“And at least the children weren’t there,” said Lithin. 

And they all agreed that this was the silver lining to that particular cloud.

They were thoroughly pampered by the elven troop and, relaxed and happy, they finally fell into Tauriel’s narrow bed together. Tauriel took Thorin’s face in her hands. “I love you, Thorin,” she said. “And now I want you to make love to me.”

They took things very, very slowly. “And I’m enjoying every moment,” she reassured him. It was warm and snugly sensuous and Thorin experienced no flashbacks. When it was finally and spectacularly all over, he held her tenderly in his arms. “I knew there had to be some advantage to this narrow bed,” he murmured, as he pressed tightly up against her. “Perhaps our new bed at the forge should be made half the size of our current one.”

“Ah,” she giggled, “now that seems like a plan.” 

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Rider. This time, it is Tauriel’s life that is disturbed as a fascinating horseman comes riding into her life from the distant land of Rohan. He’s an arrogant, sexist pig but will she find his striking good looks an attraction she can’t resist?


	15. Thorin and the Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Poppy is three and spoiled and it’s Tauriel whom family life has begun to affect. As a Rider of Rohan comes galloping onto the scene, will she be swept away by a fantasy figure or will the love of a good man/dwarf help her to keep her feet firmly planted on the ground? Well, you always know the ending, don’t you, ladies, LOL? One of these days I shall shock you!

Thorin and the Rider  
Pt I

Tauriel was trying to knead some dough. It was a hard job and she was feeling very tired.

Into the room stomped three year old Poppy looking very pretty in one of the many frilly dresses her parents had bought for her and clutching a white ribbon in her hand.

“Mum-meee!” she said in a demanding little voice. “I need a pink ribbon to match this dress and I can’t find one.” And she stood there glaring as if this lack was all Tauriel’s fault.

“Won’t a white one do, sweetheart?” asked Tauriel in a reasonable voice, up to her elbows in flour.

“No,” said Poppy in indignant tones. “I’m a little pwincess and pwincesses don’t wear white, only pink.”

Tauriel sighed, washed and dried her hands and then rifled through various drawers until she came up with a pink silk ribbon. Without saying “thank you”, Poppy swept away with it. Tauriel floured her hands again but, only a couple of minutes later, Arion stormed into the room.

“Warg and Dog are fighting over food,” he said in an accusing voice. “I told you to set it out in separate bowls - and you didn’t! Now, what shall I do?”

Tauriel tried to maintain her reasonable voice. “Well, you know that Warg’s bowl got broken yesterday.” She was careful not to say: “You know how YOU broke Warg’s bowl.” And then she continued: “It’s not a bad thing for them to fight a bit. It gives Dog a chance to establish his dominance – and you know how Warg always lets him win.”

Arion snorted, helped himself to an elf-cake she had made earlier and also stomped out rather grumpily. Tauriel went back to her kneading.

Five minutes later, Rose came in sniffing and brushing a tear from her cheek. It was so unusual to see Rose crying that Tauriel wiped her hands and put an arm around her. “What’s the matter, Rose?” she asked.

“I shall give that Thorin a thump one of these days,” she snapped between sniffs. “’E’s in such a bad mood and really yelled at me because he said I had done a bad job on a necklace I’ve been helping him with. Well, I shall just stop ‘elping and then see ‘ow ‘e likes it! You should call ‘im to order a bit more often, Tauriel!” And she also snatched an elf-cake and stormed off to her room.

Is the wind blowing from the east, Tauriel wondered? And she began to feel at the end of her tether. But, back she went to her kneading.

Finally, hard upon Rose’s heels, Thorin banged in from the forge. He ripped off his leather apron and his filthy top and threw them on the floor in a temper. “I don’t believe it!” he fumed. “I’ve managed to ruin that sword I was welding and now I’ll have to start it all over again from scratch.” He grabbed an elf-cake and shoved it in his mouth. “I must say,” he added, “that if you had found the time to come out and help me with the bellows, it might not have happened.”

“What about Rose?” said Tauriel calmly.

“Oh, she was too busy messing up that commission of mine to do something as mundane as working the bellows, but you’re only cooking. I asked you to find a moment but you never came so I went ahead and ruined it.”

Tauriel bit her tongue and took her annoyance out on the dough, giving it a jolly good punch.

When she didn’t offer any appropriate sympathy, Thorin came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms, nuzzling her neck. His hands ran rather intimately across the front of her apron and he breathed hotly against her throat. “Give me a cuddle, Tauriel,” he said in his wheedling voice. “I feel really fed up.”

Tauriel glanced down at her clean, white apron and there were sooty hand marks on it. She groaned and whisked it off before any of the children saw where the handprints were and put it in the basket ready to wash – again. Another unnecessary job. Thorin was like a big fourth baby today and she had had enough of the lot of them. She snatched up a couple of her own cakes and snapped: “Sort out your own problems, Thorin. I’m going for a bit of a break!” And she abandoned her dough on the table. 

Thorin stood blinking. Well, he would never understand women. All he had wanted was a bit of a cuddle. And he wondered what had put his wife into such a bad temper. Then he ate another couple of cakes and felt better.

Tauriel nibbled at her own cakes down by the river. Her life seemed one long drudgery at the moment with everyone moaning at her and nobody helping. If only something nice would happen – something interesting – something exciting. And she didn’t mean something exciting like the flood: that had just caused a whole string of difficulties. A lot of money had been spent on replacing damaged stuff and paying the dwarven masons and carpenters to put right everything that was wrong with the house after the water had subsided. Her men from the outpost had been marvellous, but it had all taken weeks and they had shuffled around between Dis’ home, the Mountain Eagle Inn and a rented house in the Grey Havens while it was being done. No, she didn’t want any more excitement like that, thank you very much!

The one good thing that had happened because of the flood was that she had discovered why Thorin was suddenly no longer making love to her and their problems had been resolved. But, ever since, he had seemed to be making up for lost time. And, for the first moment in her life, she had begun to see this as a disadvantage because she was so bored and lethargic.

Take last night. She had lost interest half way through, her mind distracted by a million household tasks. Thorin hadn’t noticed until it was all over and apologised. “Sorry, Tauriel,” he said. “I’ll wake you up a bit later and we’ll have another go.”

Please, not another go, Tauriel found herself thinking. His enthusiasm seemed unending but hers was beginning to fizzle out. Would they never regain that wonderful balance of desire that they had experienced for so many years?

She finished her cakes and gazed moodily into the water. What was wrong with her? She had so much. And she was married to the most wonderful, the most handsome creature on Middle-earth. She had her heart’s desire but that, sadly, did not seem good enough for her.

If only something nice, something exciting would happen, she repeated to herself as she dragged her way back to the house. Be careful what you wish for. As she got back to the yard, it was as if a children’s picture book was opened and out from its pages came galloping a romantic figure of story and legend.

.o00o. 

Pt II 

As Tauriel stood in the shadow of the trees, the most beautiful, the most magnificent horse she had ever seen cantered into the yard. And, on its back was riding the most magnificent man. He was very tall and very good-looking. He was bearded and his long blond hair flowed down upon his shoulders from under an amazing helmet. It shone like gold in the sun and a horse’s tail was attached to the top and swung down behind him giving him an equine look as if he was some mythical creature, half man, half horse. Tauriel gaped.

At the sound of the horse, Thorin emerged from the house, wearing his grubby top and carrying Poppy on his hip. Rose was hanging on his arm and Arion peered out from the stable. They all stood with their mouths open. The rider brought his horse to a wonderfully controlled halt and gazed down arrogantly at Thorin from his saddle.

“I am looking for the great warrior, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said.

Thorin gave him a lopsided grin. He could imagine the scene of scruffy domestic bliss he was presenting to this heroic specimen. “What do you want with him?” he asked, playing with the man and knowing what the response would be. 

“I don’t share my business with servants,” he sneered, “particularly if they’re dwarves.”

“Oho,” said Rose, noticing Thorin’s amusement and playing along with the game. “So, no-one told you that Thorin Oakenshield is a dwarf?”

The rider blinked, caught on the back foot for a moment. Then he regrouped quickly. “I don’t talk to little girls either,” he said. “And I still need to talk to your master,” he added, turning once more to Thorin.

“Well, I’m not quite sure, sir, that I can arrange that,” Thorin replied, “seeing as I have no master.”

“You’re insolent, dwarf,” snapped the stranger. “Give me your name!”

Poppy was goggling at the rider until this moment but, as she heard the rude way that the man addressed her father, she entered the exchange. “Don’t you talk to my Daddy like that,” she said haughtily, “or he’ll punch you on the nose. And,” she said, warming to her subject, “I’ll tell my mummy about you and she’s an elf and she’ll fight you with her knives.”

The rider looked at the little girl in her expensive frock and slowly the penny dropped. There was a long pause and then he said: “So, am I addressing the warrior, Thorin Oakenshield, then?”

Thorin grinned. “You’re addressing Thorin the smith, one-time warrior and King under the Mountain.” And he stroked the horse’s neck. “What a fine piece of horse-flesh,” he added. “Would I, by any chance, be addressing a Rider of Rohan, one of the Rohirrim?”

The man relaxed and grinned back. “My mother always says I jump too readily to the wrong conclusions.”

“Funny you should say that,” said Tauriel walking across the yard, “I’m always telling Thorin the same thing, so you two make a pair.” And the man let out a shout of laughter and dismounted gracefully from his horse.

Tauriel introduced herself; Arion and Rose took the awesome horse to the stables and Thorin gestured Thurstan, the Rider, into his humble home.

And very small and humble it did indeed look once Thurstan had shouldered his way into the main room. He towered above everyone and his bulk seemed to fill the space so that it appeared inadequate. When he sat down, he overflowed the chair he sat on and Tauriel was afraid that he would damage her furniture. But, he took his helmet off and he fitted the room a lot better after that. The children and Dog stood in a long line gaping at him and Tauriel had to remind them not to be rude. But Thurstan laughed and said he was used to being stared at ever since crossing the borders out of the wide grassy plains of Rohan.

They sat around the dining table and he demolished the last of the elf-cakes in a few gulps. He was nothing like Beorn in size, thought Thorin, and yet he projected a larger than life image.

“So, why have you come?” asked Thorin at last.

Thurstan told them how the villages of Rohan were being subjected to more and more frequent orc attacks. The wild men were also being encouraged to come down from the hills by the orcs to attack his people too. “Gandalf passed through about a year ago and told us how he had set up an outpost in Ered Luin and how a warrior by the name of Thorin had suggested ways of arming the scattered farmhouses and settlements. Our king has sent me to study the details so that we can, perhaps, do the same. The Riders constantly patrol the plains but we cannot cover every area.”

“You see,” smiled Tauriel, “your fame has reached even the distant lands of Edoras, Thorin.”

And distant those lands seemed to them for neither had ever visited the grasslands of the horse lords. Arion and Rose were keen to hear all about the Rider’s home. “We’ve travelled as far as Mirkwood and Dale,” Rose said proudly, “but we’ve never been that far south.” One day she hoped to go there and visit the fabled white city of Minas Tirith which was even further away but there was plenty of time for that.

“Which way did you come?” asked Thorin. “Did you have to cross the Misty Mountains?”

“We’ve crossed the Misty Mountains,” boasted Arion with a toss of his head.

“No,” laughed Thurstan. “I thought I had chosen the easy route. I travelled through the Gap of Rohan and followed the River Isen to the sea. There I took ship to the Grey Havens. But,” he said with a grimace, “I discovered too late that I was a poor sailor and I have endured weeks of misery. My horse, Buckler, was none too happy either. I can’t tell you how relieved we were to set foot on solid ground once more.”

“And was there any special reason,” Tauriel asked, “as to why you were chosen for this mission?” She had heard about the boastful culture of the Riders and wanted, politely, to give Thurstan an opportunity to tell tall tales of his prowess and courage. 

But, unexpectedly, he paused before saying that he had volunteered for the journey and Tauriel guessed that there had been some trouble at home that had persuaded him to travel to lands far beyond the reach – or the interest - of most of the Rohirrim.

Thorin spent the rest of the evening discussing the problems that they had faced from invading orcs. “It’s not too serious,” he said, “but I reckon that’s because they know the area is well-guarded. I think it would be a lot worse if we didn’t have the outpost and if the farmhouses weren’t well fortified. We get the occasional flurry from small groups of about thirty. I reckon they’re testing our strength and, if they found that we had let our guard drop, I think they would attack in greater numbers. The outpost is a big deterrent, of course,” he continued. “But I think you need to ask my wife about that – she’s in charge. Gandalf chose her, you know,” he finished proudly, “because she was Thranduil’s captain of the guard in Mirkwood.”

“And was she a good one?” the Rider asked smilingly. He didn’t doubt a woman’s prowess because the Rohirrim had a handful of shield maidens of their own but, to have a woman in charge of an outfit, well, that was something else.

“Well, she was good enough to capture me – twice – and hold me prisoner,” Thorin said, half with embarrassment and half with pride.

“Yeah, it’s a good story,” grinned Rose. “You’ll ’ave to get the details out of ‘im when ‘e’s drunk.” And they all laughed.

“I’m going up to the outpost for a week tomorrow,” offered Tauriel. “Would you like to come with me and see how we operate?”

Thurstan was delighted. Not only would he get to see in close-up how Ered Luin was defended, but he would get to spend more time in the company of the beautiful captain of the guard. The Riders were an insular people; he had met very few elves before and he had to admit that he was stunned by this one.

.o00o. 

Pt III

 

Thorin waved them off the next day. He stood on the doorstep holding a daughter by each hand and Thurstan couldn’t help but surreptitiously shake his head. All he could see was a great warrior reduced to the role of baby-sitter. Well, things like that certainly didn’t happen in Rohan. The small number who chose to be shield maidens were very skilled but, once they were married, then they knew their place – at home, with the children. He could scarcely believe that Thorin was willing to stay at the forge, looking after the children, whilst Tauriel set out on her manly duties at the outpost.

“Does Thorin mind looking after the children while you’re on duty?” he asked curiously.

“No,” replied Tauriel. “He likes their company. Then I look after them when he does weapons’ training with the men.”

But, that’s how it should be, he felt like saying. The woman should be looking after them while the man gets on with his work. It bothered him, this sharing of tasks, but it made Tauriel seem strong and different in a rather attractive way.

Tauriel gave Thurstan a side-long glance. My, he looked wonderful astride that horse. He seemed to control it with the slightest movement of his knees and he and his beast were so large that she was beginning to get a crick in her neck looking up at him. She felt faintly overwhelmed by his presence. Was this the exciting experience she had wished for? Perhaps it was, she grinned to herself. Thurstan was certainly exciting enough to make her feel rather short of breath when she was around him.

Thurstan was also looking at Tauriel out of the corner of his eye, wondering if all elves were as beautiful as she was. The shield maidens of Rohan were tall and sinewy and strapping with long, blond hair and a masculine stride. Tauriel was also tall but slender and lithe, the sort of woman who would bend rather than break if you took her in your arms. And he spent a few moments imagining the experience. A Rohan girl, despite her fierce demeanour, always melted in a man’s arms once he laid hold of her. She knew what it was to be a woman and how to acknowledge the dominance of men. Even at times of war, although they were often very skilled, the female fighters of Rohan were usually asked to protect the women and children at home whilst the men went off to do battle: they seldom experienced real, hand to hand fighting. That was men’s work. There were no women amongst the Riders, patrolling the plains. And their ultimate role was that of housewife and mother. Thurstan was finding it very difficult getting his head around the idea of Tauriel being in charge of a load of men. But, they weren’t men, Thurstan reminded himself, but elves and perhaps elves were different. He thought of the way that Tauriel and Thorin ran their household and, remembering the emasculated dwarf, wondered if elves were the same. He grinned to himself. Perhaps the beautiful Tauriel was in need of a real man.

He dug around a bit further. “Are any of your troop women?” he asked.

“Not at the moment,” she said, “but female volunteers would be more than welcome. Are any of the Riders women?”

“No,” he answered. He almost said, “No, certainly not,” but he bit back the remark just in time.

But she persisted. “Any reason?”

He tossed back his blond braids arrogantly. “Men and women all have their place. One or two young women like to train as shield maidens, but, at the end of the day, they’re just not powerful enough to fight with men and we seldom allow them on the field of battle. It keeps them amused and out of mischief whilst they’re young,” and he smiled in a condescending way. “But, once they’re married, their chief purpose is to produce children – and please their husbands.”

Tauriel raised an eyebrow. “Ah,” she said, “I shall have to tell Thorin that. He’ll wonder if he’s missing out on something.”

Not noticing the sarcastic note in her voice, Thurstan took this opening to eagerly instruct Tauriel in the art of wifely duties. “Women are the gentler sex. They like to be led and to be told what to do. And if they put a lot of effort into pleasing their husbands then they can have just about everything they want out of life.” He smiled winningly at her. “We are putty in your hands, you know. There are ways and ways of being in control.”

Tauriel nearly burst out laughing. Well, Thorin was usually putty in her hands, she had to admit. But, on the other hand, she was often putty in his – although not quite so often just lately. She felt sorry for all the poor ladies of Rohan with their lack of choices in life, even if the compensation was being bedded by fine-looking men like Thurstan. And she took some time out to admire him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, “I was wondering what it might be like to let Thorin take complete control and for me to give up my life at the outpost and devote myself to his every whim.”

Feeling that he had begun to reel her in to his way of thinking, he pressed on enthusiastically. “Just think,” he said, “how much better your life could be if you were to give up your job and stay at home. Your husband and children would no longer have to worry about your safety and you could be there for them 24 hours a day. Your husband would show his appreciation in all sorts of ways.” And he looked at her slyly through golden lashes. “You would no longer be so tired trying to be all things to all men, so to speak. And you are tired, aren’t you?” he guessed. “My father always used to say that the man was the head of the household but the woman was its heart. And, once you can get your thoughts around that and live your life by that rule, then everyone will be happier.”

Tauriel was beginning to find him tiresome. “But, what if that’s not what I want?” she asked.

“Well, I’m sorry if it’s not what you want,” he said. “But it’s a man’s world and a woman gets on in life by succumbing to his wishes.”

Tauriel changed tack a little. “So, you don’t let women fight in battle because they’re not as strong as men? Well, I have fought in battles and I have lived to tell the tale. We have skills that compensate for our lack of strength like agility and speed.”

Thurstan refused to be stumped. “But you had men fighting alongside you,” he said. “I can imagine that they were protecting you even if you weren’t aware of it.”

Tauriel felt like snorting with indignation but she smiled sweetly instead. There was time and enough for him to find out about her fighting skills. And when Thurstan saw her submissive smile he felt confident that he had won that particular argument.

But, as you say, thought Tauriel, women have ways and ways. Time to be the concerned woman.

Putting on a gentle, feminine smile, she said: “I got the feeling that you volunteered to come on this mission to escape trouble at home. Women’s intuition, you know.”

Thurstan smiled in triumph. “There,” he said, “you’ve just proved what I’ve been saying. A woman’s instincts have a place in the grand scheme of things. You’re so much better at rooting out a man’s problems – and then offering comfort.”

“Ah, so you need comfort?” she asked coyly.

“Perhaps I do,” he grinned cheekily. “Are you offering?”

“You’ll have to tell me your problem first,” she said sweetly.

“Well, there’s this woman,” he started.

“There usually is,” Tauriel laughed.

“And I wanted to marry her and I thought she wanted to marry me,” he continued. “But then I caught her kissing someone else. She said it meant nothing but we had a big row about it. Then the king asked for a volunteer. I decided it would serve her right if I disappeared for a few months – treat them mean, keep them keen, you know – and so I stepped forward.”

“But you know what they say,” said Tauriel. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder – of someone else. Aren’t you worried that, while you’re away, she’ll find another lover?”

Thurstan tossed his head with a cocky self-assurance. “No, I know when a woman wants me.” And he looked suggestively at Tauriel. “She’ll wait. And, when I do return, she’ll be at my feet.”

Tauriel felt like smacking him and saying “Naughty boy!” As she looked at him, she no longer saw a mature, adult man and warrior but a spoiled teenager, playing a game with love and determined to get his manipulative way.

But, by now, they had arrived at the outpost. Her men came running out and greeted her with deference and affection. Seeing their respect made Thurstan feel uneasy. It seemed the wrong way round, somehow. The elves were all extraordinarily handsome fellows but there was something willowy – almost feminine about them – and this came as no surprise.

They fussed around the two of them like women and cooked a meal that was even better than that produced by most women too. But Thurstan felt a bit confused when he watched the elves watching Tauriel, particularly when he studied her second in command, Lostwithiel. The chap was in love with her – even in lust with her – and he noted the way that his eyes followed her sadly around the room. But, as far as he was concerned, this was quite normal male/female behaviour. And he wondered if the elf had taken things further. An affair would be quite easy to manage, he thought. What with Tauriel up at the outpost and Thorin down at the forge. An elf – or a man - would be a fool not to have a go under the circumstances.

Should he have a go, he wondered? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And he would soon be out of here and travelling back to the rolling grasslands of Rohan.

.o00o.

Pt IV 

Thorin was feeling anxious. He had sent a message up to Dis with a group of travellers and he hoped she could get to the forge either this evening or tomorrow morning. Then, once the children were in her care, he would set out for the farmhouse. Tauriel usually only stayed overnight but, before the arrival of the Rider, she had promised to stay on for a week. This had been no problem although he always missed her when she was gone. But, now that the Rider had come and would be up there with his wife, Thorin began to feel uneasy. He seemed a nice enough chap – and yet ....... Thorin couldn’t quite put his finger on why Thurstan bothered him, but he did. And he wasn’t going to sit at home and wait for something to happen.

When Dis hadn’t arrived by the time it was dark, he assumed she wouldn’t be there until the next morning. He put Poppy to bed and then Arion a bit later and, after that, Rose helped him to tidy up. They were just sitting down for a chat when they were surprised to hear a horse come into the yard.   
“Surely not Dis at this hour?” said Thorin in surprise. And Rose ran to the door. Outside, in the dark, she could just about make out a big and beautiful horse, a bit like Thurstan’s. Its rider dismounted and strode into the light. They were surprised to see, not another of the Rohirrim, but a tall and striking woman.

“I’m looking for Thorin Oakenshield and Thurstan of Rohan,” she said curtly. “Are either of them here?”

Thorin bowed her into his home and said: “I am Thorin Oakenshield and Thurstan was here only this morning. He has gone up to examine our outpost in the Blue Mountains with my wife and they should be back within the week.”

“With your wife?” she said, and her eyes flashed.

“Yes,” Thorin replied. “The elf, Tauriel. One-time captain of the guard at Thranduil’s palace and now captain of the Ered Luin outpost.”

“An elf?” she asked.

“What’s botherin’ ‘er?” thought Rose.

“If you could possibly give me directions to the outpost, then I’ll be off,” the woman said abruptly.

But Thorin gestured her to be seated at the table. “You’ll never find it in the dark,” he said. “You’re welcome to stop here for the night. I hope to go up there myself tomorrow.”

And so, rather reluctantly, she sat down.

“I am Aelfrida of Rohan,” she said. “And I have followed Thurstan from the Golden Hall of Edoras.”

She was a handsome woman, large and strong with chiselled features. Her blond hair hung in plaits and braids and, although she wore no helmet, she was dressed in breeches and chain mail. Her stride was long and she carried herself with the confidence and arrogance of a man. When Rose stabled her horse, she found a shield and sword strapped to its side which she untied and brought into the house. “Fine workmanship,” she said, as she laid the weapons on the table where their guest was eating. Aelfrida raised an eyebrow as if to say: And what would a 13 year old girl know about fine workmanship?

And so Rose volunteered the information before it was asked of her: “Thorin is a smith and I’m being trained as his apprentice.”

“A female smith?” the woman asked in surprise.

“Why not?” said Rose.

“Er...why not, indeed,” responded Aelfrida as if the thought suddenly found favour with her.

“And you’re a female warrior,” smiled Thorin.

“And why not?” she smiled back. “Well, at least until I get married.”

“And what then?” asked Rose.

“Why, then I shall stay at home and look after my husband and the children.”

“And never fight again?” Rose looked shocked.

“Of course not,” came the response. “It wouldn’t be appropriate or seemly. My first duty would then be to my husband. I would serve his every need.”

Thorin spluttered into his drink. “Are there any more at home like you?” he guffawed. “I think I may have married the wrong woman.”

Rose dug him in the ribs indignantly. “Now, stop it, Thorin, or I’ll tell Tauriel,” she said. And Thorin wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to keep a straight face as he thought of Tauriel serving his every need.

“Sorry,” said a puzzled Aelfrida. “Have I said something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” said Thorin, calming down. “And is there a lucky man whom you hope to marry?”

“It’s Thurstan, of course,” she said, and her face softened.

“But, what are you doin’, chasin’ after ‘im like this?” asked Rose curiously.

“Well,” said Aelfrida rather hesitantly, “I had wanted to marry him for a long time. I thought he was about to ask for my hand but week after week went by and he said nothing. So, finally, I decided to give him a bit of a push.” She looked guiltily down into her lap.

“You tried to make him jealous,” laughed Rose.

Aelfrida was startled. “How did you know?” she asked.

“Oh,” said Rose modestly, “I’m just good at this sort of thing. So, let me guess: you set things up so that he would catch you kissing someone else.”

Aelfrida was taken aback. “You’re amazing,” she said.

“But the whole thing back-fired,” continued Rose. “You had a terrible row and he stormed off here to Ered Luin.”

“Right,” laughed Aelfrida. “And I was so afraid that I would lose him that I’ve followed after him.”

“Yes, she is amazing, isn’t she?” said Thorin, looking at Rose with a note of wonder in his voice. “I don’t know where she gets it from.”

“Well, not from ’im,” giggled Rose to Aelfrida. “I’m adopted, you see.”

Aelfrida had been wondering how a human child came to be the daughter of a dwarf and an elf. So that was at least one thing she could stop puzzling about. Now, all she had to worry about was whether or not Thurstan would run off with some other woman before she could get him back in her arms.

The next morning, Dis arrived bright and early and Thorin set off with Aelfrida to the outpost.

At the farmhouse, everyone had finished their breakfast. Thurstan had studied the whole set-up very closely and had held long conversations with the elves the previous evening. Now part of the troop went off on patrol, others set about a few household duties (Thurstan cast his eyes up – where on earth were the female servants?) and a couple went outside to practise various skills.

“Would you like to practise with me?” asked Tauriel. She had been waiting for this opportunity. Thurstan hesitated for a fraction of a second. In Rohan, men did not practise with women. On the other hand, this would give him a chance to be alone with Tauriel.

She took him out to the butts first and Thurstan was more than a little annoyed when he was well and truly out-classed by Tauriel. “What about a bit of hand to hand fighting now?” suggested Tauriel. “Your sword against my knives?”

Ah, thought Thurstan. Now that’s more like it. And they went to a quiet glade nearby and drew out their weapons. The Rider grinned, confident of his success but the smile was soon wiped off his face. She moved so quickly and her knives whirled in such a blur that, time and again, she won the point. If this had been a real fight, he thought, he would be dead by now – several times over. He felt angry but he also felt strangely excited. It was such a novel experience to be dominated by a woman that he wasn’t quite sure if he liked it or not.

But, at last he got his chance. With furious and powerful strokes, he managed to drive her back towards a tree. Tauriel was just about to slip to one side when she stumbled on a rock, fell back against the trunk and Thurstan, immediately seizing his moment, trapped her with his body and pressed his blade against her throat.

“Got you!” he crowed triumphantly. “You’re dead!”

Tauriel couldn’t help but be amused at his childish pleasure and she grinned back. “Do you submit?” he asked in a soft and throaty voice. His handsome face was only inches away and, suddenly, he bent forward and kissed her. She almost wasn’t surprised because there had been a tension between them ever since they had first met. Thurstan dropped his sword and, clasping her to him, deepened the kiss.

Is this my adventure, thought Tauriel? The bit of excitement I was looking for? She had just decided that it wasn’t and was about to push him away when a woman’s yell reached her ears. Startled, they both turned in the direction of the voice. And there stood a furious Thorin and, by his side, a beautiful, mail-clad woman who, even now, was striding angrily towards them drawing her sword.

“Keep your hands off my man!” the woman shouted and Tauriel stepped away from Thurstan with an apologetic grimace. But the stranger thrust the point of her sword against Tauriel’s throat and a bead of blood appeared on her white skin. Thurstan made no attempt to protect her but stood there grinning. 

But Thorin was also marching forward with drawn sword: “And you can keep your hands off my wife!” he yelled at the Rider. Thurstan hastily bent to pick up his own sword and Tauriel knocked away Aelfrida’s weapon with her knives. Suddenly, the quiet glade became a battle-ground. Dwarf and Rider, elf and sword maiden fought ferociously together.

The strangers from Rohan both thought they had the advantage. Aelfrida looked at Tauriel and saw only a willowy and slender elf; Thurstan looked at Thorin and saw only a baby-sitting dwarf. But Aelfrida had nowhere near Tauriel’s skill and Thurstan was quickly finding out why Thorin was called a legendary warrior. Soon, both Rider and sword maiden found their blades had been sent flying from their hands. “I think,” growled Thorin, “it’s about time you two went home.” And, seizing his wife by the elbow, he hustled her back to the farmhouse.

Thurstan and Aelfrida gazed at each other for a moment and then Aelfrida flung herself upon her beloved’s neck and melted in his arms. Just as it should be, thought Thurstan smugly. But, later that night, en route to the Grey Havens, as they lay kissing on the grass by their camp fire, Thurstan suddenly cleared his throat and said: “Umm, you couldn’t sort of, umm, boss me about a bit, could you? You know, like, get on top of me and tell me what to do and what not to do?” And he looked at Aelfrida hopefully.

The sword maiden blinked. What an odd request, she thought. “If you say so,” she said politely. “You know I am yours to command.” 

“No, umm, I want you to do the commanding,” Thurstan muttered.

“All right,” she grinned. And found that telling Thurstan what to do came quite naturally to her when she put her mind to it.

.o00o. 

When Thorin and Tauriel had got back to the farmhouse, there had been a bit of an argument over who had taken the initiative as far as the kiss with Thurstan was concerned and whether or not she had enjoyed it. Thorin looked quite hurt and Tauriel felt quite guilty. In the end, she managed to convince him that the kiss had been instigated by the Rider and that she had been about to push him away when Aelfrida had appeared on the scene.

“And you know,” she said, “that I think you’re the best kisser on Middle-earth.”

Thorin looked pleased and didn’t think to ask her how she knew.

That night, Thorin got into their narrow bed in Tauriel’s office while she sat in her nightgown and finished off some paperwork at her desk.

“Come to bed, Tauriel,” he wheedled.

She turned from the desk and smiled. “All right,” she said. “But let’s play the Thurstan/Aelfrida game first.”

“And what sort of game is that?” he grinned, resting on his elbow.

“Well, it’s where I pretend to be a woman from Rohan and you pretend to be one of the Rohirrim.”

“Ah,” he said. “The game where you serve my every need.”

Her eyes twinkled. “That’s right, my lord,” she said. “Shall we begin?”

“Hmm,” he said. “What do I need at the moment? I think I need you to take off that nightgown first.” And Tauriel slowly pulled the gown over her head.

Thorin found that he was holding his breath. He would never get over how beautiful she was and, as she threw her clothing on the floor, he let his breath out in a burst and flung back the coverlet. She got in beside him and said seductively: “What next, my lord?”

If the lamp had been turned up a bit more brightly, Tauriel would have seen Thorin blush. “Well,” he said, “I wonder if you could... if you wouldn’t mind...” And he whispered in her ear. Tauriel grinned. “Anything, my lord,” she said. And she knelt on the mattress, pushed him back on the pillow and said with a growl: “Now, just don’t move!”

And, for the next fifteen minutes, Thorin tried very, very hard not to move although it proved rather difficult. He emerged gasping from this very interesting experience and Tauriel bent over him and gently and sensuously brushed her lips against his own.

“And what do you want next, my lord?” she said.

Thorin pulled her down into his arms and said: “Well, I think I want you to stop calling me ‘my lord’ and go back to ‘Thorin’ instead. And then I want you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.”

Tauriel giggled and whispered in his ear.

“Hmm,”said Thorin. “I think I’m going to enjoy that too.”

And as they laughed and scuffled around under the coverlet, Tauriel felt an enormous sense of relief that the wonderful balance of desire that had once existed between them had finally made its return.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin goes to Rohan. The family, inspired by the excitement of having visitors from the outside world, pack their bags and visit Minas Tirith and Rohan. How will the girls respond to a different culture and will Tauriel prove that, what the Rohirrim need, is a brave woman who can be more than just a housewife and a mother? Well, Eowyn has yet to be born and so they will have a bit of a wait, LOL!


	16. Thorin Goes to Rohan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Oakenshield family go on another adventure, this time to Minas Tirith and Rohan. Will they have a hard time of it? I expect so. They always do. This follows closely behind Thorin and the Rider. Hope you enjoy it!

Thorin Goes to Rohan  
Pt I

“Well, Daddy,” said four year old Poppy, “I do think you’re really, really mean.” She was sitting on Thorin’s lap and glaring fiercely into his eyes,

“And why is that, poppet?” asked Thorin mildly. He was used to his small daughter’s sudden accusations.

“Well, you’ve taken Arion and Rose and Dog on an exciting adventure and I just don’t see why I can’t go on one too.” And she folded her arms and gave Thorin the full pout.

Her long-suffering father sighed. “We’ve discussed this all before,” he said. “Life is so much more tricky since the time you were born. We’ve not only got Warg to think about – who would look after him whilst we were gone? But Dog is getting older too and I think he’s lost the urge to go adventuring.”

And I think I have too, Thorin added to himself.

Poppy put her arms about his neck and began to wheedle. “But you’re so clever, Daddy. I’m sure that if you really tried you could work something out.”

Ever since the two Rohirrim had passed briefly through their lives a year ago, Poppy had suddenly developed a fascination with the outside world. Thurstan and Aelfrida had blown into the forge with the wind of adventure and excitement at their backs and Poppy had refused to let the subject of a holiday in distant parts lie.

“I want to see the grassy plains of Rohan,” she said, her eyes wide. “And I want to see the Golden Hall of Edoras and the white city of Minas Tirith.”

“There’s plenty of time for such things yet,” her mother had said. “You’re only four.” But Arion had been only four when they had travelled all the way to the Lonely Mountain and back again and she never tired of asking her brother all about it. However, before the arrival of the Riders, it had seemed like a fairy-tale. After they had turned up on the doorstep – so large and golden and fine – suddenly these mythical places had taken on a reality and Poppy wanted to experience them.

Thorin and Tauriel lay in bed together, holding hands. “Do you think we ought to make the effort and go on another journey?” he asked his wife.

“Well,” said Tauriel, “travel does broaden the mind and I think we discovered we had all learned a lot of things by the time we got home. But the burning question is,” she continued, “what would we do with Warg if we did go?”

“Your men at the outpost are the only ones who could look after him,” Thorin said. 

“And Lithin is reasonably comfortable with him,” added Tauriel. “Perhaps we should have a bit of a get together with all concerned parties and talk it through.”

“Good idea!” said Thorin decisively, turning towards her and sliding his hand around her waist. “But the TRULY burning question is: why are we wasting good bed time discussing Warg when we could be doing much more satisfactory things?”

“Like what?” giggled Tauriel.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Thorin. “How about sleeping?”

“Anything else come to mind?” pursued the elf.

And the dwarf nuzzled her neck and, in a husky voice, made various suggestions into her pretty, pointed ear.

“Oh, THAT!” exclaimed Tauriel. “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to sleep instead?”

“Absolutely!” growled Thorin. And he grabbed the edge of the coverlet and pulled it over their heads.

.o00o.

A week later, the concerned parties were gathered together around the Oakenshield table: Thorin, Tauriel, Rose, Arion, Poppy, Lostwithiel and Lithin.

“Let’s not worry about Warg for the moment,” said Thorin, “but let’s just talk about the basics.”

Little Poppy sat there with her eyes alight, confident that her father would resolve all the issues.

“If we decide to go,” Thorin continued, “then I think it’s best to travel south by ship, like Thurstan and Aelfrida.” Rose and Poppy looked excited but Arion pulled a face.

“I shall talk to Barnaby Waller in the Grey Havens,” their father continued. “He’s got a whole fleet of ships that trade as far as Minas Tirith and further. I can imagine that he will be willing to take on a few passengers. We shall leave our horses behind and rent them when we get there. But, that means that our horses here and Dog and Warg will need a home whilst we’re gone for at least 6 weeks.

“Well,” volunteered Lostwithiel, “I think the men would be willing to take on all the animals in theory, but Warg is very intimidating and we have no idea how he might behave once Arion isn’t there to control him.”

“That’s true,” said Lithin. “I rub along with Warg quite well but I’ve always got Arion with me. He might rip our throats out if we try to manage him on our own.” And he looked quite apprehensive.

Poppy began to look annoyed and turned to Arion. “So, just because of your pet, none of us can go on holiday ever again! It’s not fair.”

Arion ignored her and looked up at his father. “Do we have to travel by ship? Why can’t we go overland like we did when we went to the Lonely Mountain?”

“Because it’s such a long way,” Thorin replied. “We’d be gone for months on end and I really can’t afford the time.”

Arion studied his hands for a moment. “You see,” he finally said, “the only ship I’ve ever been on is the Corsair ship when I was a little lad – when the pirates tried to take me. I still remember Rose jumping overboard with me and how frightened I felt. I’ve got bad memories.”

“So, what are you saying, Arion?” asked Tauriel.

“I’m saying that, if we can’t go overland, then I’d rather stay here. If the troop will have me, I could look after Warg, Dog and our horses up at the outpost.”

Poppy perked up at that. “Yes, you stay behind, Arion. And then the rest of us can go and have a bit of fun.”

“Well,” snapped Arion, “the worst part of the journey would be having to share a cabin with my bratty sister for weeks on end!”

Poppy was about to open her mouth in a sharp retort when Lostwithiel held up his hand. “It would be a pleasure to have you all, Arion,” he said. “But only if your parents think it’s a good idea.”

They all turned to look at Thorin and Tauriel.

“It is a good idea, isn’t it?” wheedled Poppy.

Her parents gave each other a vaguely unhappy look.

“It’s not perfect,” said Thorin, at last, “but I think it’s the best we can do.” And the whole table cheered.

.o00o.

“You know,” said Tauriel, as she and Thorin lay in bed that night, “Arion isn’t the only one to be apprehensive about this trip. I’ve never been on a ship either. I was born here and the most I’ve done is a bit of boating on a river.”

“Same here,” said Thorin, “but a boat is a sort of ship.”

“But a river isn’t exactly the open sea. We don’t even know if any of us will be prone to seasickness, like Thurstan,” Tauriel retorted.

“Well, knowing my luck,” grimaced Thorin, “I shall be the one to be seasick and you’ll all be laughing at me. But, I know that you’ll look after me, my love, and hold a bowl under my chin.”

Tauriel remembered the very trying time when Thorin had broken out in spots and she wasn’t sure that she could bear to have him sick again but thought that at least Rose would be there to help keep him in order.

“And our cabin bed is likely to be a tight fit,” he added.

“That’s a problem?” she grinned.

“One of the least of them, I should think,” he laughed, and he drew her into his arms.

.o00o.

Pt II

Everything was arranged in a surprisingly short amount of time and, within a month, they were on their way. A number of elves came down from the outpost and collected Arion, the horses and his pets who all trotted off quite willingly. Tauriel and Thorin finished their packing and a hired wagon arrived to take them to the Grey Havens. Soon they were standing on the quay, looking up in awe at the Nancy Sue, Barnaby Waller’s finest trading ship.

Rose and Poppy couldn’t wait to get on board and the captain, Edward Bracegirdle, came to meet them as they climbed up the gangplank. 

 

“We’ll be putting to sea in an hour or so,” he said, “and I hope you’ll take dinner with me later this evening. In the meantime, Sam here will show you around.”

“Sam here” was a fresh-faced young seaman with rosy cheeks and merry eyes. He helped them carry their luggage below decks and then showed them around their cabins, which didn’t take long. They had been allotted two cabins next to each other and each had a double bed.

“We allus take on a few passengers and they like to have proper beds,” said Sam. “Now,” he added turning to Rose and Poppy, “you two young ladies won’t mind sharing a bunk, will you?” They told him that this was just fine and then they all traipsed after him and squeezed into their parents’ cabin.

“I’m afraid,” said Sam politely to Tauriel, “that the Nancy Sue’s beds are a lot narrower than those on land. It’s alright for the young’uns, but will prove a bit tight for you two, your husband being so broad in the shoulder, and all.”

Tauriel assured him that this would not bother them at all; and she could have smacked Thorin as he grinned wickedly at her from behind Sam’s back, making it difficult for her to keep a straight face.

Then Sam showed them around the rest of the ship, from stem to stern, and they were all fascinated and delighted by everything they saw. He stood on deck with them as the gangplank was pulled up and the sails were unfurled. “It’s a bit fresh today,” he said, “and it might feel a bit rough to you landlubbers tonight as we pull further out to sea. But you’re not to be frightened,” he said kindly to the children. “It’s good sailing weather and we shall make excellent time. But this is a merchant ship with a big hold to carry our goods, so she wallows a bit. Just don’t worry about anything.” And then he was off to help the rest of the crew, leaving them with the assurance that he would check on them regularly to make sure that there was nothing they needed.

That evening, they ate in the captain’s cabin and a pretty good meal it was too. “Make the most of it,” he laughed. “The food gets worse the longer we are at sea.”

He told them it would take ten days to sail down to the mouth of the Isen and then three more days to make their way slowly up this wide river to the town of Osgiliath which served as a port to the city of Minas Tirith, just a few miles across the plain known as the Pelennor Fields.

“You can see the city from Osgiliath,” he said. “In fact, you can see it rising up out of the plain some time before we get to the haven. And what a city it is,” he sighed. “It really is a great marvel, made of white stone and rising circle upon circle until it reaches the Citadel at the very top.”

Rose and Poppy wanted to know about the king but Captain Bracegirdle laughed. “There is no king,” he said, “only the Steward, Ecthelion. For generations, the Stewards have kept the throne safe for the true king. They believe he will return one day.”

And then they asked about Rohan. “We’ve got a couple of - er - friends there,” said Thorin, “and we’d all like to see the Golden Hall of Edoras.”

The children were very keen to visit the grassy plains of Rohan, but Thorin and Tauriel were a bit anxious about the reception that they might get from Thurstan and Aelfrida. In the end, they decided that since they had given hospitality to the Rohan couple, they would have to give them some form of hospitality in return.

“Ah, Edoras,” said the captain. “Never been there. But they say that the Golden Hall is a marvel too. It was built hundreds of years ago – out of wood, y’know – but the whole town is set upon a great mound that rises straight up out of the grasslands. And they say you can see the Hall’s golden roof glittering from miles away. But the Rohirrim…..” and he grimaced. “They’re a bit distant – they keep themselves apart, y’know. But, if you’ve got a couple of friends there, you should be fine.” And Thorin and Tauriel gave each other a look. 

The talk then turned to the weather. “It’s pretty bracing at the moment,” laughed the captain. “Not too bad as we hug the coast line but we’ll be tossed about a bit as we pull away.”

“Why can’t we stick close to the shore?” asked Thorin, a bit anxiously.

“Because of the rocks,” said Bracegirdle. “It’s a really dangerous coast line – rocks as sharp as dragon’s teeth. But I pull close in when I can. The ship will be up and down like a bucking horse tonight so we’ll soon find out which of you is the good sailor.” And he laughed uproariously again.

Thorin began to have a very bad feeling.

They all went to bed early. The children couldn’t wait to sleep in their new quarters and everyone was tired after a long day. The Nancy Sue was bobbing up and down in quite a soothing manner at this point and Thorin climbed eagerly into bed alongside Tauriel.

“Yes, it is a bit of a tight fit,” grinned Thorin as he pressed up close to his wife. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if I climbed on top of you,” he volunteered generously. And he rolled on top of her and, propping himself on his forearms, he leaned down to give her a kiss.

“Mmm,” he said, after a few short minutes. “Now that’s an interesting rocking motion. I think I could get used to that.” But Tauriel laughed and made him move onto his side before he squashed her.

They both fell asleep almost immediately, clasped in each other’s arms. Thorin went out like a light and slept so deeply that he would not have woken until the morning if Rose hadn’t come banging on the door. He slowly surfaced and suddenly realised that the ship was plunging and tossing quite erratically. It was far worse than the rocking he had experienced in the Mirkwood tree house.

“Thorin! Tauriel!” yelled Rose and he fell out of bed and staggered the few steps to the door. “It’s Poppy,” she said, as he opened it. “She’s feeling really ill.” And, trying to keep their footing on the heaving deck, they both edged their way back to the children’s cabin. Poppy was sitting up in bed, looking very pale and crying. 

“I’m going to be sick, Daddy!” she cried. And Thorin fumbled in the bedside cabinet for the basin he knew was there, then sat on the bed next to her and, holding back her hair, watched all that nice dinner she had eaten earlier make a reappearance. Once it was all up, he thought she would find some relief but the following dry retching was never-ending. 

“Look after her for a moment,” he said to Rose. “I’ll fetch her mother.”

But, when he got back to their cabin, Tauriel was also sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand suddenly flew to her mouth and Thorin made a dive for their own basin. Soon, Tauriel was in as bad a state as Poppy. “Don’t you feel sick, Thorin?” she asked wanly between heaves.

“No,” said Thorin, much to his own surprise. He was feeling quite alert now that he had woken up and his stomach was completely undisturbed by the violent motion of the ship. He hastily threw on some clothes, found another bowl and took the full one away. He climbed up on deck and managed to dispose of the contents over the side after sensibly testing the direction of the wind.

He was about to go below again to relieve Poppy of her full basin when he bumped into Sam who was on watch. The young sailor gave a sympathetic nod towards the bowl. “Bad down below, is it?” he asked.

“Well,” replied Thorin, “it could be worse. Rose hasn’t succumbed.”

Sam pointed to the breaking dawn streaking the sky. “Get them wrapped up and on deck,” he said. “I’ll see if I can help a bit more later when I come off duty.”

But, when Thorin got back down to the children’s cabin, Rose was being sick too in the spare bowl.

“I didn’t feel sick until Poppy started throwing up. I fink I’m breaking out in sympathy.”

And Thorin knew what she meant. After being out in the fresh air, the cabin seemed stale and unpleasant. He suddenly felt the gorge rising in his own throat and he knew they all had to get out.

“Wrap yourselves up warmly,” he said. “I’m going back to get your mother and then we’re all going up on deck.”

But the two girls refused to help themselves. “I can’t get dressed,” moaned Rose, “I feel dizzy if I move my head.”

“Make the ship stop, Daddy,” grizzled Poppy.

So Thorin felt that a bit of brutality wouldn’t go amiss and he bundled them both into their clothes, totally ignoring their pathetic cries, and then went back to his own cabin. There, Tauriel had reached the dry retching stage and was looking very green about the gills. “Help me, Thorin,” she groaned. “I want to die.”

“Get dressed,” he said firmly. “Sam says we should all go up on deck.” She looked at him as if he were mad.

“I can’t move let alone get dressed,” she said. But he yanked off her nightgown and pulled her into some warm clothes before carrying her up on deck. “I shall be sick all over you,” she muttered into his shoulder, as he mounted the gangway.

“No, you won’t,” he said firmly. And she wasn’t. 

Thorin left her on a bench in a sheltered position. Then, he went and got Poppy next and carried her up to her mother. And, finally, he brought up Rose. The early sun’s rays were beginning to shine on them in their little corner and the fresh air began to take effect. Soon they stopped vomiting, but they were still looking pretty ill.

Thorin went below again and brought up the water jug and he made them take little sips of water until, at last, they managed to keep it down. Then he went back to the cabins with a bucket of water pulled from the sea, and mopped up and cleaned the cabins so that they smelled a lot better.

By the time he had finished, Sam had appeared again on deck with a big tray of breakfast food. Tauriel and the children took one look and their hands flew to their mouths once more. “Make them eat,” said Sam in an aside to Thorin. “They’ll feel a lot better.”

But Poppy just cried and refused to eat anything and Rose shook her head and compressed her lips.

“Lead by example, Tauriel,” begged Thorin. So Tauriel forced down a few mouthfuls whilst Thorin took each child on his lap in turn and tried to hand feed them.

As the sun rose and the day got warmer and brighter, the food and the hot herbal teas that Sam brought them began to have an effect. Then Sam asked Thorin to help him in the cabins. There they erected a couple of hammocks, one for Poppy and one for Tauriel. “Rose should be all right as long as Poppy doesn’t start throwing up again,” Sam thought, “and, if the hammocks are used, they won’t be so aware of the swell of the sea.”

They all got through the next week or so by spending their days up on deck and by sleeping in the hammocks at night. And, at last, the Nancy Sue turned into the wide mouth of the Isen and all was calm and still at last.

.o00o.

Pt III

Sailing quietly and smoothly up the river for the next three days proved to be the best part of the journey. Finally, and much to Thorin’s relief, everyone felt better and Poppy and Tauriel vacated their hammocks and returned to their beds.

“At last,” sighed Thorin as he snuggled into his wife. “I was beginning to have nightmares where you forever dangled in a hammock over my head and I couldn’t reach you.”

Tauriel wrapped her arms about him. “Thank you so much, Thorin, for everything you’ve done for us this past week and more. You’ve been so kind and patient with everyone. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” And she kissed him tenderly.

Thorin smiled into his beard. He was rather pleased with her praise. It was usually Tauriel’s job to look after the family when anyone was sick because elves were seldom ill themselves but, this time, he had had to shoulder the responsibility himself. And everyone was so pathetically grateful for his gentle care that it had given him a really good feeling.

“It was nothing,” he said airily. “Any time…..Except not any time in the immediately forseeable future, please.” And he laughed and returned her kisses.

“And now,” he continued, “I think we’d better not waste any more time. If we don’t try out this bed quickly, the journey will be over before we’ve even started.”

.o00o.

After two slow and easy days on the river, Sam suddenly called them up on deck. The dawn was just breaking on a clear day and they all gazed wide-eyed as the rising sun shone upon the white city of Minas Tirith, now just apparent in the distance. “How amazing,” said Tauriel, as its white walls gleamed in the increasing light.

“We’ll be there by this afternoon,” said Sam. And it was such a wonderful sight that they stayed up on deck for the rest of the day.

“It’s my home city,” said Sam, leaning on the ship’s rail. “I’m looking forward to seeing my parents again – we’re getting shore leave for a couple of days.”

The children flung endless questions at him and Sam did his best to answer them. He had always wanted to travel and his mother had suggested he be a sailor. Sam gave a wry grin. “’Become a sailor and see the world,’ she said to me. But what did I see?”

“You saw the sea!” they all laughed in response. This was a common saying in a port like the Grey Havens, but they all giggled together.

Sam had been at sea, working for Barnaby Waller, for more than seven years now and had found that it suited him. “You get to see people and places and your mind is opened to all sorts of new ideas,” he said. “Minas Tirith is a beautiful and ancient city but, if you are born there, the wonder of it is lost on you. Every time I come home, I am much more impressed by the place than when I lived here.” He cast a side-long glance at Thorin and Tauriel. “And don’t be surprised if you get stared at either. We’re a long way south here and don’t get to see many elves or dwarves. I remember the first time I ever saw elves at the Grey Havens. I was quite gob-smacked……..In a nice way, of course,” he added when Tauriel raised an indignant eyebrow. “The people of Minas Tirith are very fine and noble-looking – except for me,” he grinned, “but you elves must be the most beautiful creatures on Middle-earth.”

“I’ll go along with that,” rumbled Thorin, as he slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and hugged her to him.

Sam’s father was a smith, working in the Steward’s forges, and Thorin had time for a brief and interesting conversation with the young man about this before he was called away to his duties. Suddenly, as the fabulous city loomed ever larger on the horizon, their adventure seemed to be beginning.

The port of Osgiliath had formerly been the capital of Gondor before the honour passed on to Minas Tirith. It was rather run down but they could still see that it had once been a fine place, built, like Minas Tirith, in white stone. As they disembarked, they chatted with Captain Bracegirdle about their return trip. The Nancy Sue was sailing even further south in a few days’ time but would be returning to Osgiliath after a couple of weeks and then would sail on to the Grey Havens once more. Thorin was hoping to pick up with the ship then but another of Waller’s ships would be docking a week later if they were held up.

“Don’t worry,” said Bracegirdle, “our ships are backwards and forwards all the time. You’re bound to meet up with one of us – although I must admit that I would like to hear all about your trip to Edoras on a return journey.”

He told them where they could hire horses and soon they were crossing the few miles that led through fertile fields to the shining city. Poppy was riding with Tauriel and when they caught up with Sam who was trudging along on foot, Rose offered to share her horse with him and he mounted behind her.

Sam suggested various comfortable inns in the city but he was beginning to feel unhappy as he imagined the unwelcome attention they might soon be subjected to. He had really enjoyed the company of this charming family and so he suddenly looked up and said: “Rather than stay at an inn, would you like to stay at my parents’ house? You could see better how we live and you could have a good chat with my father,” he added, looking at Thorin.

“Well, that’s a bit of a reckless offer,” laughed Thorin. “I’m sure your mother will be none too pleased when you roll over the threshold with us in tow.”

But Sam reassured them that his mother had a lively mind. She was easily bored and had suggested he become a sailor so that she could enjoy his life vicariously when he came home with tall tales of the sea. By the time they reached the city gates, they were persuaded. 

Before the gate was a large, paved area where various roads met. “That’s the Great West Road to Rohan,” said Sam, pointing. “You’ll be needing that when you set out for Edoras.”

They stood marvelling for a few moments at the Great Gate, made of iron and steel. “No enemy will ever breach that,” said Sam smugly.

“I reckon it depends on the enemy,” replied Thorin, thinking of the dragon, Smaug.

They entered the city then and began their climb. The streets were wonderfully paved and lined with elegant and beautiful houses. From a distance, it had all looked perfect, but, up close, there were signs of neglect and decay.

Thorin tutted. “A hundred dwarven masons would soon set this to rights,” he said.

Sam was a bit defensive. “Well, it is a very ancient city,” he said. “And we’re too busy out defending the borders of Middle-earth to waste time on building work. We guard your backs, you know, and we get no thanks for it.”

Tauriel soothed him and told him about her work at the outpost and also about the work of the Rangers on the northern borders. “I agree it is a thankless task,” she said. And Sam’s ruffled feathers were smoothed down.

Sam’s parents lived on the fifth circle and there was a fine view from their front doorstep. When they followed Sam into the house, his mother, Jacintha, shrieked and threw her arms around him. Sam looked sideways at his new friends and mumbled: “Anyone would think she only saw me once a year instead of once a month.”

And then Jacintha realised that she had guests and, patting her hair breathlessly into place, asked to be introduced. She stared in amazement at the lovely elf, the fine-looking dwarf and their two beautiful daughters. “Oh, mother, don’t stare,” laughed Sam. “They’ve had enough of that climbing up through the city.”

And Jacintha looked embarrassed and apologised. “But, I’ve never seen such a beautiful family before,” she said politely.

“And I expect you’ve never seen an elf or a dwarf before either,” said Rose. “But they’re worth staring at, aren’t they?” she giggled.

“Yes, really worth staring at,” said Jacintha and she laughed merrily and everyone felt comfortable with each other.

She was a pleasant-looking woman with Sam’s rosy cheeks and dancing eyes, plus a welcoming and motherly manner. She bustled them into the house, brought out food and drink and insisted that it would be no trouble at all putting them up for a few days until they set out for Rohan. Sam showed them around and they discovered that it was a spacious house with a lovely walled garden to the rear and a barn to stable the horses. Soon, the Oakenshields felt very much at home.

Over the next two days, Sam’s good-natured father took delight in showing Thorin and Rose the Steward’s forges on the lowest level; Tauriel spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Jacintha, exchanging recipes and discussing herbal remedies, whilst Poppy had the best time of all being thoroughly spoiled by the entire household who thought she was the most beautiful child they had ever seen.

But Sam had been right. Whenever they went out onto the streets, they were followed by a curious crowd of citizens. It was rather unnerving and so, when Sam’s shore leave was over, they made their goodbyes and descended down through the different levels with him to the main gate. There were handshakes and hugs and then Sam waved them off to Rohan on the Great West Road.

.o00o.

Pt IV

Thorin, Tauriel and Rose had their own horses but Poppy took turns to ride with each of them. “How long will it take to get to Edoras, Daddy?” she asked Thorin when it was his turn to take her up before him.

“About five days, if we travel steadily and make reasonable time,” he said.

Everyone was good; no-one complained of the pace and everyone did what Thorin told them to do. And they did make excellent time and, upon the fifth day, they expected to see the Golden Hall in the distance, its gold roof shining in the sun. They got up early and set off full of excitement.

“How pleased do you think Thurstan and Aelfrida will be to see us?” asked Rose.

“I don’t think they’ll be best pleased,” laughed Thorin, “but we were very nice to them until they behaved badly and I think they will feel obliged to be nice to us.”

And then, as they passed over the flat, grassy plains, a shaft of sunlight came out from behind a cloud and, in the distance, on a great hill, they saw the glint of gold. “There it is!” yelled Poppy.

But, just as they paused to admire their first glimpse of the great hall of Edoras, there was the thunder of hooves and, suddenly, they were surrounded by horsemen who circled around them in a rather intimidating way and who finally swept to a halt, their horses plunging and rearing and their long spears pointed at the family. Poppy was riding with Rose and she grasped her sister in fear. But the riders ignored the children and their leader snarled instead at Thorin and Tauriel: “And what are a dwarf and an elf up to, travelling here in the Riddermark?” 

Thorin’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sword and his face twisted angrily. How dare they frighten his children! And Tauriel, thinking similar thoughts, raised her bow. But it was Rose who suddenly pushed her horse forward and snapped: “Well, what do you think, Riders? We’ve come to Edoras to visit friends and a great welcome you’ve just given us.” And she batted away a spear that was poking at her.

The Rider grinned and the tension was broken. “What have we here?” he laughed. “A budding shield maiden?”

“Be careful, Rider,” said Tauriel, “or you will experience the sharp edge of my daughter’s tongue. And I can promise you that it is keener than any shield maiden’s sword.”

The men guffawed and lowered their spears. The leader bowed courteously to Rose. “And what are the names of these friends, lady?” he asked.

“Thurstan and Aelfrida,” Rose said sharply, still not happy with their reception. “We met them in Ered Luin last year.”

Suddenly all the men were roaring with laughter. “Ah, all is explained at last,” the Rider said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Now I can see where Aelfrida got it from.”

“Got what from?” asked Rose curtly. She wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was supposed to be offended.

“Her attitude, of course,” he replied and they all burst out laughing again.

The leader turned to Thorin and Tauriel. “Our apologies,” he said, “for our lack of courtesy. But we can take no chances with any strangers in Rohan these days.”

“Even when the strangers are children?” said Thorin, still feeling a bit spikey.

“Even when they are children,” came the response. “Our enemies could use them to make us lower our guard. But, come,” he added cheerfully, “we are going to Edoras and we shall escort you there.”

They set off in the direction of the golden gleam, Thorin and Tauriel riding with the handsome and bearded leader, Wilfrid, and the children riding behind with the rest of the troop who were gaining much amusement from their sharp retorts.

“And is Fengel still king of the Rohirrim?” asked Thorin.

“Yes,” answered Wilfrid. “He’s an old man now but I’m sure he will be pleased to see you.” And he glanced down with a grin at Thorin’s heavy gold rings and mithril belt. Thorin was too polite to say that he had heard of the greed of their king and of the rift between him and his son, Thengel, who had left Edoras some years ago for Gondor. He lived there now with his family and had vowed never to return during his father’s lifetime.

But they had little interest in Fengel. “Are Thurstan and Aelfrida married yet?” asked Tauriel.

“Yes,” answered Wilfrid. “They were married soon after they returned from Ered Luin.” And then he bowed his head respectfully to Thorin. “We have heard much of the deeds of Thorin Oakenshield in the far regions of the Blue Mountains.”

“And what of the deeds of Tauriel, his wife? Have you heard about them too?” asked Thorin with a raised eyebrow. Knowing the sort of society that these Riders came from, he expected the answer to be “no”. 

But Wilfrid nodded and said: “Yes, Aelfrida has mentioned your wife and her outpost.” And then his lips twitched and, glancing at the willowy elf, he laughed. “Yes, she has mentioned them – repeatedly.” And he laughed again.

Thorin felt indignant at the Rider’s manner, but Tauriel placed her hand on his arm and said quietly: “Not now, Thorin. There will be time enough.” And then she changed the subject.

Poppy and Rose were riding within a tight circle of fascinated younger warriors. Rose was nearly fifteen, and, her fond parents thought, seemed to grow more beautiful by the day. The young men couldn’t keep their eyes off her glossy, black hair which fell in such an attractive mass of curls down her back. No-one had black hair in Rohan and they jostled to ride at her side. 

“How old are you, then?” asked Egbert, a handsome, clean cut youth of sixteen. When she told him, he next asked if she were betrothed.

“Of course not!” replied Rose in surprise. But when she saw him grin, she asked at what age girls got betrothed in Rohan.

“Oh,” he said, “sometimes they can be betrothed when they’re children, although they don’t get married until they’re at least fourteen.”

The thought that she might be married by now if she lived in Rohan shocked Rose. “And what if I’m betrothed as a child and then grow up and don’t like the man I’m betrothed to?” she asked.

The circle of young men laughed at her naivety. “Well,” said one of the youths, “it wouldn’t make any difference. Your first duty as a woman of Rohan would be to please your husband and to give him children. You would be gratified that someone wanted to marry you in the first place. Although,” he continued with a cheeky grin, “I reckon that any of us here would be quite gratified if their betrothed turned out to be you.” And a lewd snigger ran around the group.

Rose was not easily embarrassed. “But I don’t think that the feeling would be mutual,” she said coolly, and gave the speaker a long stare so that he dropped his gaze and felt quite taken aback by her response. A Rohan girl would have blushed; but she would also have been flattered and relieved that a young man was paying her attention. Anything was better than being left on the shelf. Yet, this girl looked ready to punch him on the nose.

But Egbert wasn’t so easily deterred. “I’d marry you,” he offered generously. He was very popular amongst the young girls and didn’t doubt his powers of attraction. He gave her his special smouldering look that always did the trick and rode close to her so that his knee brushed against hers.

“But,” retorted Rose, “I don’t think I’d marry you.” And she looked him slowly up and down. “When I marry, it will be to a man and not a boy.”

Everyone except Egbert roared with laughter. This was fun! It wasn’t often that a girl came back at them and it felt quite exciting. But Egbert glowered and pulled his horse away.

“And I wouldn’t marry him either,” piped little Poppy to her sister. “He’s big-headed like my brother.” And the laughter continued.

Soon they were through the gate of Edoras and climbing the hill towards the Golden Hall. It was a town built entirely of wood, but it was very fine, thought Thorin. There were individual hall houses with beautifully carved gables, each surrounded by a well-stocked vegetable garden. Healthy-looking and strapping, blond-haired children played at the side of the road and looked up curiously as they rode past. Then, when they were finally close to the summit, Wilfrid stopped and gestured to a large house.

“This is Thurstan’s hall,” he said. “I hope we shall meet with you later.” He received their thanks and then he and his men rode on to the palace of Edoras.

The family dismounted and then tentatively approached the front door. When Thorin knocked, Aelfrida opened it. She looked totally flustered, then opened her mouth and shut it again. Then she looked anxious and finally seemed pleased. “What on earth….?” she started. But then she threw wide the door and said, “Come in!”

She made them sit down at the long, hall table whilst she got them food and drink. And then she sat with them and said: “Well, I can’t imagine what you’re doing here but I am just SO glad to see you!” And the whole family felt quite startled at her enthusiasm.

They gave her the details of their journey and then Tauriel said: “We’ve been told that you and Thurstan are married now.”

“Yes,” she replied happily. “He’s a good man and I knew I was right to go chasing after him.”

“But,” said Thorin, indicating her breeches and chain mail, “I thought you were going to give all this up when you became a wife.”

Aelfrida leaned across the table and took both the elf and the dwarf warmly by the hand. “And if it hadn’t been for you two, that’s just what would have happened. But, after our encounter with you, Thurstan and I have chosen a different path.” She sighed. “It is very hard sometimes but perhaps now that you are both here, we can show them all that there is more than one way for a woman to lead her life.” And her eyes glowed.

Tauriel and Thorin looked at each other and wondered what they had got themselves into.

.o00o.

Up at the palace stables, Wilfrid found Thurstan tending to his horse. “You’ve got some visitors,” he said. And when Thurstan raised an eyebrow, he continued: “An elf and a dwarf and their two beautiful daughters.”

Thurstan’s jaw hung agape and then he hastily tidied his things away and hurried out of the stable. “I thought you’d be pleased,” shouted Wilfrid after him.

And, goodness, was he pleased. Reinforcements, at last! Since their return to Rohan, their lives had been made difficult by the sneers and laughter of his fellows as he and his wife had tried to lead a life of mutual respect. One small mercy was that no-one knew what went on in their bedroom where Aelfrida always took the lead; if they had, they would never have heard the last of it. And he grinned as he thought about their love life – the others just didn’t know what they were missing out on! But everyone knew that he supported Aelfrida in her determination to continue as a shield maiden – even though she wasn’t a maiden any more – not by a long shot. And he grinned to himself again. But the other warriors disapproved of his support for her and also noticed how often he deferred to her opinion. He had become the butt of many jokes as the men decided that their relationship just wasn’t normal. And, if Thurstan hadn’t been bigger and stronger than most of them, things could have been an awful lot worse.

He burst into the hall house and clasped the Oakenshields in a delighted bear-hug. “Welcome! Welcome, to my home!” he cried. “You cannot imagine how pleased we are to see you!”

Things must be bad, thought Thorin.

And then the couple told them how coming to Ered Luin had changed their attitudes and their lives. “By the time we got back here to Edoras,” said Aelfrida, “we just knew we couldn’t carry on as before. You two opened our eyes.”

Then Rose made them all laugh when she told them about the exchanges she had had with the young warriors. “I bet you came as a shock to them,” grinned Aelfrida. “They try to make me feel as though there’s something wrong with me and then you come along and shake up their opinions a bit.”

“Well,” said Rose, “perhaps we can shake them up a bit more.”

“That’s what we’re hoping,” grinned Thurstan.

.o00o.

Pt V

That evening, Poppy was put to bed and left in the care of the servants, whilst the rest of them set off for the nightly gathering in the mead hall of Fengel the King. Tauriel and Thorin looked around in awe at the beautiful interior of the palace. It was wonderfully carved and painted and the great central hearth gave it a delightful, old-fashioned air that the houses at the Grey Havens, with their stone fireplaces and chimneys lacked. “Do you remember the central hearth at my old hall?” asked Thorin and Tauriel smiled and nodded and held his hand.

The place was already packed and Tauriel noticed that the only women present were the servants. Fengel sat at the end of the room on his throne looking old and tired and bad-tempered. Thurstan brought the Oakenshields forward and introduced them.

“It is not our custom,” said Fengel in a dry and whispery voice, “for women to gather in the mead hall of an evening.” At this, Thorin’s eyes sparked, something that did not go unnoticed by the other warriors. “But as our guests,” the king continued, “and as strangers who might not practise the same customs, your wife and your daughter – and, for this once, Aelfrida too - are welcome to stay this evening.” And, as the men looked at the very beautiful elf and her extremely striking daughter, they felt pleased that their king had made this decision.

And then wine was served and the king thanked Thorin for all the useful information that Thurstan had brought back from Ered Luin. “In the past year,” he said, “we have tried to implement many of your ideas for the defence of this region.”

“And you need to thank my wife too,” said Thorin firmly. “Thurstan spent time with her picking up ideas at her outpost.” The king compressed his lips and Thorin waited.

“Indeed, yes,” was all he finally said.

And then a harp was brought and Thorin was invited to sing of his great deeds. And Thorin sang about the dragon, Smaug, and the creature’s final overthrow and about the Battle of the Five Armies. Then all sat entranced both at the beauty of his voice and at the heroic tales of his younger years. And, when he had finished, there was wild applause and the eyes of the men shone with admiration.

“And now,” said Thorin, perhaps my wife can tell you all about her battles with the giant spiders of Mirkwood when she was Thranduil’s captain of the guard and about her struggles against the orcs in Ered Luin.” But everyone’s face went suddenly blank and Thorin began to realise what Thurstan and Aelfrida were up against.

The king smiled politely. “No more stories tonight,” he said. “It’s time for some other amusement, I think.” And then his warriors cleared an area before his throne and entertained the assembled company with various trials of arms.

Later, as the men were resting between bouts, Thurstan suggested that they might like to see Thorin’s skill. They all applauded the idea and Thorin fetched Orcrist and his axe from the door where he had left them. There was much interest in his weapons. They tested the weight of his axe, whistling through their teeth, and they admired the exquisite beauty of his elven sword.

“One against one?” asked Fengel.

“How about one against five?” laughed Thorin. “I enjoy difficult odds.”

And the men guffawed at his boastfulness but it didn’t take long for Thorin to disarm all his opponents. There was a stunned silence and then they cheered him to the rafters.

“And perhaps a few of you would like to test my wife’s skills too,” said Thorin. But silence fell upon the hall.

“It is not our custom for men to fight against women,” said the king.

“Ah, but it is OUR custom,” grinned Thorin. “And we are your guests.”

Fengel felt under an obligation of hospitality and so reluctantly called Egbert forward. Egbert looked even more reluctant than his king. “I would not want to pit her against one of our seasoned warriors,” he said. “But, perhaps this young man would be appropriate.” And he looked at Tauriel’s slender form.

But, Rose stepped forward then. “No,” she said, “that won’t give anyone any fun. My mother would flatten ‘im in seconds. But, I’ll take ‘im on. He’s about the same age as me. My swordplay isn’t good enough yet, but my wrestling’s not bad.”

A ripple of excitement ran around the room. It would be – interesting – to see a girl wrestle and they stamped their feet in approval. Egbert nodded and his eyes gleamed. Yes, he quite fancied the idea of pinning Rose to the floor. And the king lifted his hand in agreement.

At first they circled each other warily and then they closed in on each other. Egbert grinned at her, confident of an easy win. But Rose knew all the dirty tricks of street fighting and, within a very short time, she had tossed him across her hip and he was sprawled on the floor. For a moment, the Rohirrim sat with their mouths open in disbelief and then they all cheered. And the loudest cheer came from Aelfrida.

“Now,” said Rose triumphantly, her arms akimbo, “will you believe me when I say that my mother can easily take on two or three of your men at once?” The king’s interest was piqued and he nodded to three of his biggest men. He was determined to knock this silly idea on its head once and for all. Tauriel went to collect her knives and Thorin sat back in his chair and smiled.

Again, much interest was shown in her elven weapons and then the bout began. The crowd were soon gawping. She was so fast and so light on her feet; and, just as in Thorin’s bout, the weapons of her opponents were soon sent flying from their hands. Again, there was an incredulous silence and again the rafters shook with the crowd’s applause.

“Well,” said the king, “I believe we certainly have seen something here this evening.” And he gestured Tauriel forward to tell them all about her exploits at the outpost. Thurstan and Aelfrida, meanwhile, were hugging themselves with glee.

The carousing in the hall got rowdier as the evening progressed and finally Thurstan, Aelfrida and their guests decided it was wise to leave. Thorin drew off a heavy gold ring from his finger and presented it to the king, thanking him for the hospitality of his hall. Fengel was delighted and clapped Thorin somewhat drunkenly on his shoulder. “Come again,” he said. “You and your family are welcome any time.”

Back in Thurstan’s hall, Aelfrida danced around the room. “That showed them!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps they’ll treat us differently now.”

But Tauriel took her hands gently. “It is difficult to change the way a whole society thinks,” she said. “Soon, this night will be forgotten by most of them. It will take many little steps before the women of Rohan are treated in the way that they deserve.”

Aelfrida looked solemn. “And I shall continue to take those little steps even if it is for a lifetime. Perhaps one day a great shield maiden will come along and do such a deed of courage that the Rohirrim will be shocked into a change of attitude.”

“I hope so,” said Tauriel.

But, that night, they decided that they would all leave the next day. “Before things take a nasty turn,” said Thorin. “People don’t like to be made a fool of and, by the time they’ve had a think about things, they might decide to take their revenge.”

“Yes,” agreed Rose. “I think that Egbert would definitely like to take his revenge after I’ve made him look such an idiot.”

So, when the sun rose that morning, they readied their horses, kissed each other fondly and set out again along the Great West Road, but this time eastwards towards Minas Tirith.

.o00o.

Poppy moaned all the way back to Osgiliath that she hadn’t had the opportunity to see inside the Golden Hall. “Well, the roof is the best bit,” Rose assured her and she had to be satisfied. 

They made good time and only had to stay a couple of days in the port before the Nancy Sue came sailing into dock. They were glad to get on board again and Captain Bracegirdle gave them a hearty welcome. “And I want to hear all about your Rohan trip at dinner,” he said.

As they lay pressed tightly together in the narrow bed that night, Thorin and Tauriel thought about their adventure.

“Adventures are tiring, aren’t they?” said Tauriel. “And half the time they aren’t much fun. Now all I’ve got to look forward to for the rest of this trip is a hammock and a sick bowl.”

Thorin laughed and growled in her ear. “Well, I’m looking forward to the next few nights on the river. But you’re right,” and he kissed her long, white throat. “Adventures? Who needs them? I think we should make a pact not to give in to any of the children’s wheedling if they try to persuade us again.”

Then he rolled on top of her. “This is the best sort of adventure,” he said huskily. “It’s an adventure every time I get into bed with you. And ALL of it is fun.”

And, as Tauriel seized his plaits and pulled him down towards her, she found she had to agree.

.o00o.

They stood on deck with Sam the next day as the ship pulled away from the view of Minas Tirith. “It’s so beautiful,” sighed Rose. “I wonder if we shall ever see it again.”

“Of course you will,” said Sam. 

But none of them ever did.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin Sorts Things Out.
> 
> All those Rohan lads flirting with Rose! Well, I’m not surprised: she’s growing up to be a very beautiful young woman. But, will Rose start to fall in love with someone back in Ered Luin and, more importantly, will he fall in love with her? And, can Thorin sort out the problems that are bound to ensue?


	17. Thorin Sorts Things Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is now a teenager and her siblings are growing up too. What romantic problems will Rose find herself with? And can Thorin sort things out for her? There are at least two more stories after this before it’s truly all sorted out, so don’t jump the gun yet! Have fun, everybody!

Thorin Sorts Things Out  
Pt I

“Oh, look,” said Rose, standing over Thorin as he sat at the diningroom table, “I think you’ve got a new white hair.” And she reached into the mass of dark curls that tumbled down his back and gave a tug.

“Ow,” said Thorin.

“Don’t do that,” said Tauriel. “For every one you pull out, two will grow in its place.”

“And how would you know?” laughed Rose. “Elves don’t get white hairs. I should imagine I shall grow them long before you’re ever likely to have any.” They all joined in the laughter. Their different rates of aging and the sad fact that two out of the five of them were not immortal was a difficult burden to bear and they had all learned to cope by making jokes about it.

Rose was sixteen and looked like any other human teenage girl. Thorin was over two hundred but dwarves aged slowly and he looked scarcely older than when Rose had first met him eight years earlier, apart from the odd grey hair. They both expected to die within the next seventy years or so and it was a moot point who would die first. Tauriel was more than a thousand years old but she just didn’t age at all. She was still young and beautiful with a fall of lovely, golden hair. And, unless she was actually killed, in battle, for instance, she expected to live forever.

Thorin looked across the table at his son, Arion, who was half-elven - half elf and half dwarf - as was his sister, Poppy. Elrond was uncertain if these two children had inherited the gift of immortality from their mother because they were the product of a union unheard of before in Middle-earth. It was a case of wait and see. But, at the very least, they should have very long lives.

The handsome dwarf looked up fondly at his adopted daughter as she stood there grinning with the white hair still dangling from her fingers. By chance, she looked very much as if she could have been his own, natural daughter and Arion’s sister. All three had a great mass of black hair and vivid, blue eyes. Poppy was five and had a head of golden ringlets that bounced as she walked and her mother’s brown eyes which were flecked with green. She was very spoiled and knew she was pretty and deliberately shook her curls when there were visitors so that they danced in the sun.

Arion was ten and was a very sturdy, very good-looking boy. It was interesting that the elven blood somehow made him and Poppy appear more grown-up than they actually were. They were both confident, carrying themselves in an almost adult way, and they had both learned to talk articulately at an early age. They also had that special beauty and grace that belonged to the elves but, at the same time, they looked stronger and not quite so willowy.

Rose was a human, thought Thorin, but, to him, she also seemed very special. She might not have Tauriel’s ethereal looks and yet she had a striking beauty all of her own. His hair and Arion’s had a coarseness to it but Rose’s was black and glossy. It was very long and fell to her waist, even longer than Tauriel’s who kept hers just below her shoulder blades because she was a captain of a group of elven soldiers and needed to give an example as far as hair length was concerned. 

His daughter’s blue eyes always seemed to be dancing with amusement, whereas he and Arion were more likely to be caught out glowering. And she was tall and strong with surprisingly lithe and muscled arms, a result of working in his forge and training to be a smith. She was very proud of her arms and often wore sleeveless dresses and silver arm-rings that showed them off. She was already the sort of girl that you looked at twice if she passed you in the street.

They were such a strange family, he thought. Arion was a warg-rider; both he and his sister had unusual mixed blood; Rose was a female smith; and he, a dwarf, had married an elf. All these things were unknown in Middle-earth before the Oakenshield family came along and did them.

There was a knock at the door and Lostwithiel, Tauriel’s second-in-command, was standing on the doorstep. “I’m on my way down to the Grey Havens,” he said. “Any food going spare?” And they invited him to sit down and join them for lunch.

He took a chair and swung Poppy up onto his lap. The little girl giggled with glee, flung her arms around his neck and plonked a big kiss on his cheek. Lostwithiel had a very special relationship with her because he had been the reluctant midwife at her birth. She knew she was special to him and could wrap him around her little finger. “Have you brought me a present, ‘Thiel?” she asked prettily and with a sweet smile.

Arion and Rose looked at each other, thinking how Thorin would have slapped them down if they had asked anything like that when they were young. But, Thorin just smiled indulgently.

Lostwithiel felt in his pocket and brought out an empty hand saying, in a teasing voice: “No, looks like there’s nothing today.” She knew he was lying and pouted, tossing her curls. So he felt in the other pocket and said: “My goodness! What’s this?” and he brought out a cleverly carved and jointed doll wearing a pretty dress. She grabbed it from his hand, slipped off his lap and then went to a corner of the room to play with her prize. No-one remonstrated with her for her rudeness; instead, the three adults sat there with silly smiles on their faces. Rose and Arion looked at each other again.

“How’s Warg?” asked Lostwithiel, turning back to the table and addressing Arion. Arion’s eyes lit up. He could talk all day about his terrifying pet.

“I rode him for twenty miles the other day,” he exclaimed, “and he wasn’t even breathing hard when we got back.” This huge, wolf-like creature was sometimes ridden by orcs but never by elves or dwarves. Arion had been training Warg for over five years now and the animal was very responsive to the child. Arion had taught him to have respect for the rest of his family as important members of the pack but he would only obey the boy. Dog was Warg’s best friend and they slept together in one of the stables where the horses and the ponies were no longer afraid of him.

Arion and Lostwithiel bent their heads together in a very detailed conversation about his pet because, when he was older, Arion hoped to join his mother’s troop - and so would Warg. And Lostwithiel was already very excited about the uses they could put him to.

Thorin noticed the way that Rose had become very quiet since the elf-lord’s entrance. With everyone else, she was loud and confident and lively and he wondered why, in the last year, she seemed to become shy and withdrawn in Lostwithiel’s presence, particularly since they had got on together so well when she was younger.

Tauriel brought in some food and Lostwithiel broke off his conversation with Arion. He looked around the table and addressed Rose with a grin: “How’s my beautiful little friend, then?” he said. “I must admit,” he added teasingly, “I can’t believe how well you’ve scrubbed up in recent years.” Rose blushed and looked down at the table. Only six months ago she would have come back fighting.

“Don’t tease her,” said Tauriel quietly. “She’s a young lady now, not a little girl.”

Lostwithiel pulled an apologetic face and said: “Sorry, Rose. I’ve got so used to that bossy little girl telling me what to do, that I’ve hardly noticed that you’ve changed and grown up.” And he bent elegantly over her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. But Rose only blushed even more and snatched up some dirty plates and took them into the kitchen.

“Now what have I done?” he asked Tauriel.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Thorin. “Girls of Rose’s age are always a bit moody.”

“And what do you know about girls of Rose’s age?” snorted Tauriel and she went to join Rose in the kitchen.

Women!” said Thorin. 

Five minutes later, Lostwithiel came out to join them, hoping to put right whatever he had done wrong. “Actually, Rose, it’s partly you I’ve come to see today.” Tauriel looked askance and left them to it.

Rose stopped washing plates. “Me?” she said.

“Yes, you,” he grinned. “Best up-and-coming smith in Ered Luin. I want you to take on a commission for me.”

She wiped her hands with a look of excitement on her face. This would be her first commission.

“Can we go out to the forge?” he said. “We can discuss things more easily there.”

Rose eagerly led the elf out to the forge and then got out paper so that they could discuss a design. “So, what do you want me to make, then?” she asked.

“A bangle,” he replied. “In silver.”

“Do you mean an arm ring like mine?” And she pointed to her own.

“No, I mean a bracelet. You, know, one that goes around the wrist. For a lady,” he said with a shy, excited look in his eyes. “I thought that you’d know better what a lady would like, more than Thorin. And that’s why I’m asking you.”

And he sat down next to her and rattled on about his own ideas for the bracelet, not seeming to notice that Rose had gone quiet again.

Rose felt like crying. He hadn’t waited for her! When she had first met him on the day that Poppy had been born, she had decided in her childish way that he was the one that she was going to marry when she grew up. And then he had got into such a state over playing midwife that she had concluded that he wasn’t the one after all. That evening, however, he had become her friend. She still remembered the warmth of the wall they had leaned against when he had put a comforting arm about her shoulders as she cried with jealousy over the way her life had suddenly seemed to change once the baby was born. She had seen him regularly since then and her relationship with him had been a bit like the one she had with Thorin – teasing, bantering, sharp and warm. 

And then, suddenly, last year, things had changed. Tauriel had taken the children on a little holiday down to the Grey Havens and they had been invited to a feast at one of the elven palaces. She had worn a beautiful, grown-up dress and, once the dancing started, she didn’t lack for partners. And then someone had come up behind her and whispered in her ear: “May I have the pleasure of the next dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” It was Lostwithiel and she had turned, all ready with an acerbic retort on her lips. But the words were never spoken because he was standing there, not in his usual drab uniform but in an outfit of black silk, beautifully cut to show off his fine figure. His pale blond hair was spread out upon his shoulders and showed off to stunning effect against the dark material while the top was open at the neck revealing his strong, tanned throat.

Rose went through the motions of the dance in a dream and she remembered why it was she had wanted to marry him five years previously. Now she just wanted to grow up very quickly so that he would see her as a woman and not just as a little friend. “Please, let him wait,” she would whisper every night as she stared up at the stars.

She picked up her piece of paper. “Tell me about her,” she said to him, “and then I shall have a better idea of what might suit her.”

“Well,” he said, “she’s very beautiful, of course,” and he gazed into the flames of the forge as if he were picturing her face there. “I saw her for the first time last month. She’s an elf from Lothlorien and I’d never met her before. She’s moved to the Grey Havens and is thinking of joining our troop. When she wears her fighting knives and her bow on her shoulder, she reminds me a bit of your mother, you know.” He continued to stare dreamily into the flames. “It’s her birthday next month and I thought I might give her a bracelet.”

“Does she like you?” Rose asked bleakly.

“Yes, I think she does. We always seem to have so much to say to each other. And if we meet socially, we dance together a lot.”

Rose tried to shake off her despair. This was only a childish crush, she assured herself, just like the one she had had on Legolas. But when she compared her feelings for Legolas with the feelings she had for Lostwithiel, she knew that it wasn’t a crush. A few more years. If only he had waited just a few more years.

They talked through the design together. “I can have it ready in a week,” she said. And then he kissed her on the cheek and went back to the outpost.

.o00o. 

Pt II

After a passionate hour of love-making, neither Thorin nor Tauriel had gone to sleep. They had been lovers for 12 years now but their feelings for each other were just as intense as on that first night in Lake Town. Now Thorin didn’t want to fall into unconsciousness; he wanted to be awake, to be there with her, to experience every possible moment. He sighed and caressed her hair. 

“Still awake, my love?” she said softly.

“Yes,” he said and he began to suck her ear-lobe gently. Why hadn’t he noticed in twelve years what an attractive feature her ear-lobe was? Perhaps it was because there were so many other attractive features to work his way through. “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked.

“I’m worried about Rose,” she said.

“Mmm,” he said, nibbling his way up her ear to the sensitive, pointy bit. This usually drove her wild. “What about Rose?” he mumbled. He redoubled his efforts and began to edge his body over hers.

“I think she’s in love with Lostwithiel,” she said.

“What!” yelled Thorin sitting bolt upright in bed.

“Shush!” whispered Tauriel. “You’ll wake the children.” And she grabbed his plaits and pulled him back down on the pillow.

“He’d better not have touched her!” he whispered fiercely.

“Of course he hasn’t!” she whispered back. “She’s in love with him, not he with her.”

Thorin sat up again and said angrily: “Why isn’t he? She’s the best-looking girl for miles around!”

Tauriel pulled him down again. “I think he still sees her as a little girl. After all, he’s so much older than she is.”

“Well,” he grinned, “you’re so much older than me. Do you see me as a little boy?”

“Quite often,” she said severely.

He snorted indignantly and, rolling on top of her, began to demonstrate that he wasn’t a little boy. But Tauriel pushed him off. “Now, stop it, Thorin,” she remonstrated. “I want to talk about Rose. This could be quite serious. He could break her heart.”

Thorin knew all about broken hearts and so he stopped his teasing and drew his wife into the crook of his arm. “So, do you want me to do something about it?”

“Yes,” she said. “You work with her most days in the forge. Can’t you get around to the subject of Lostwithiel? I think she’ll talk to you.”

Thorin groaned. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. What makes you think she’ll talk to me rather than you?”

“Because she will,” said Tauriel.

“All right,” sighed Thorin. “I’ll try tomorrow morning.....Now,” he murmured in that delightful ear, “what shall we do until tomorrow morning comes?”

“Sleep?” she suggested.

.o00o.

The next morning, Thorin was hammering away at a sword and Rose was sitting up to the work-bench drawing some designs for a bracelet. Thorin stopped hammering and asked casually what she was doing.

“I’m designing a bracelet for Lostwithiel,” she said. “It’s my first commission.”

Thorin looked delighted. “But why didn’t you tell us all?” he said. “You know how excited we would have been for you. It’s a landmark moment.” And he went across to the bench and gave her a hug. She hugged him tightly back and suddenly began sniffing into his chest. “Hey, what’s all this?” he asked, leaning back from her and lifting her chin. He saw the tears in her eyes and gently wiped away one with his thumb. This only succeeded in causing yet more to flow.

“Lostwithiel’s in love,” she sobbed. “He wants me to make the bracelet for the woman of his dreams.” And she rubbed her eyes fiercely.

Thorin sat down and drew her onto his lap and she felt very much like a little girl again, needing his comfort.

“And this is a problem,” he said, “because you’re in love with him.”

“H-how did you know?” she wept into his shoulder.

“Oh,” he said airily, “we dads just do. Now, come on,” he continued, reaching into his leather apron and bringing out a dirty rag with which he wiped her face, “tell me from the beginning.”

And so she told him from the beginning and explained how her friendship with Lostwithiel had finally turned to love. “Well,” said Thorin, his brow furrowed, “I honestly can’t see what the attraction is.”

Rose was annoyed. “You’ve never liked him very much, have you? Wasn’t there one time when you beat him up? When he was helping you fortify the forge? What a nasty thing to do. Poor Lostwithiel.”

Thorin didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. In the end, amusement won the day. “Now that’s unfair,” he said. “We’ve had our ups and downs but he’s definitely improved over the years. I’d say he was a friend......And that’s a very weird thing – falling in love with your father’s friend. Couldn’t you find one more your age?”

“Well, there’s only Darri,” she said, referring to a long-term dwarven friend from the settlement. He’s really nice but I can’t imagine myself marrying him.”

And Thorin had to admit to himself that he couldn’t either.

He tried to imagine Rose with Lostwithiel and although his mind shied away from many of the images, he had to say that they would make a good-looking couple, particularly in four or five years’ time when Rose was a bit older. They got on well together and laughed a lot together. Did he want Lostwithiel as part of his family? Probably not. But would he want ANYONE to marry his daughters and be part of his family? No! He just knew that absolutely no-one would ever be good enough for them. He grinned and, just for a moment, Thorin could laugh at himself.

He gave her a hug again. “What’s this elven woman’s name, then?” he asked.

“Challis,” she said.

“Well, I’ve got to go down to the Grey Havens tomorrow for a few days,” he told her. “I’ll check her out, if you like; watch them together, if possible. See if I think that he’s really in love with her and, more importantly, if she’s in love with him.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, and she returned the hug.

.o00o. 

Early the following morning, Thorin pulled on his leather gloves and mounted his horse. Tauriel stood at its head and gave him a look. “Don’t get into too much trouble,” she said.

“Trouble?” he asked. “What can you possibly be talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said. “No more fights with Lostwithiel.”

He reached down and ran a finger along her cheek with his gloved hand. “I want you to trust me,” he said. “I have a plan.” And he grinned.

“You’ve got a plan? Oh, please, not a plan.” And she cast up her eyes.

.o00o. 

Pt III

Down at the Grey Havens, Thorin bustled about getting himself invited to a number of social events. He knew that Lostwithiel was in the town and so he thought it a distinct possibility that he would catch him together with Challis. He struck lucky the first night when he attended an elegant and crowded soiree. First of all he bumped into Lithin and they stood gossiping for five minutes. And then he asked if Lostwithiel were there and was told he would be along later.

“And what about this Challis?” he asked casually. “You know, the elf that might be joining your comrades up at the outpost?”

“She’s there, talking to that group over in the corner,” volunteered Lithin and he pointed.

She was standing with her back to him and, for one startling moment, he thought it was Tauriel. Her hair was a similar colour and length and she was the same height. But, then she turned to speak to a neighbour and he thought smugly that, no, she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as his wife. But the similarity was there and he wondered if this was one of the reasons for Lostwithiel’s attraction to her and, as he often did, he felt a vague desire to punch the elegant elf lord on his nose. Just as well he hadn’t turned up yet, he thought.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Lithin said with a sigh.

Thorin immediately went on the alert. “If she’s so lovely, why aren’t you over there making your mark with the rest of them?” he asked.

Lithin blushed. “Oh, she wouldn’t notice me,” said the shy elf lord. “There’s nothing special about me.”

Thorin tried to take an unbiased look at Lithin. Because of his shy manner and his modesty, it was easy to pass him by. But, if he would only hold himself up straight in a social gathering like he did when he was on patrol and if he could just learn to adopt a more confident approach to life, then he was probably the best-looking of all Tauriel’s elven troop. He was definitely the nicest. 

“I’d be interested in meeting her,” he said to Lithin. “I’d like to chat to her about my training sessions up at the outpost.”

The elf took him across the room and made the formal introductions.

Now, in the past eleven years, ever since his epic adventure with Bilbo, Thorin had gradually worked out what his strengths and his weaknesses were. His greatest strength was as a leader of men. He realised that he had a certain magnetism. Why else would twelve dwarves follow him on a reckless and foolhardy journey over the Misty Mountains to face an invincible dragon? Why else would not only dwarves but also elves and men rally to his side at his call during the Battle of the Five Armies? Thorin realised that he had a power in his voice and his demeanour that called men to him.

Not only that, but he had finally realised, after they had moved temporarily to the Grey Havens when the children were young that, if he were willing to exert these powers, he also had the same effect on women. This was an amazing revelation to him, a dwarf who had been a virgin for most of his life, one who had had little contact with the fair sex and who was still astonished that a beautiful elf had chosen him above all others. He was uncomfortable with the effect he seemed to have but, if it was all in a good cause, then he would use it.

“Excuse me, Challis,” said Lithin. “I’d like you to meet Thorin Oakenshield, our captain’s husband and our weapons’ trainer.”

Thorin was ready for the disgusted/surprised/dismissive look that came into her eyes as she turned around. Par for the course, he thought. But he bowed and gave her his most delightful smile, showing his beautiful white teeth. He smouldered with a special intense look up through his dark eyelashes, the one he often gave to Tauriel. Sorry, Tauriel, he thought.

Challis found herself going from uncomfortable surprise to thinking that this dwarf was exceptionally handsome and had the most amazing blue eyes she had ever seen. How fascinating, she thought.

Thorin put on his deepest, most thrilling voice. “It’s my pleasure to meet someone who is likely to be a new member of our outpost and it will be an even greater pleasure to instruct you,” he said.

Challis was mesmerised by his velvet, seductive tones and found herself gazing like an idiot at him.

Thorin took her firmly by the arm and steered her to a quiet corner. “Perhaps we could have a chat about the outpost and how you intend to offer your services,” he said and he bowed her into a seat, sitting very close to her (doing a Kagris, he thought) and still holding her with his hypnotic gaze. Challis felt as if she were having trouble breathing.

They sat there for a long time, discussing the outpost and then moved on to the Battle of the Five Armies. None of the elves from Lothlorien had been present and she was fascinated to hear all the details. Thorin managed to give her a vivid description of the part he had played without sounding boastful and, by the time he had finished, the whole battle, with Thorin as the heroic leader, was playing out in her mind’s eye.

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “If only I had been there!” And she leaned towards him and fluttered her eyelashes.

Good, thought Thorin. She’s flirting with me.

At that moment, Lostwithiel homed in on them, swept across the room and plonked himself down between them. Challis looked very annoyed.

“Ah,” said Lostwithiel, “I see you’ve met our captain’s husband.” And he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gracefully.

“Yes,” she said quite sharply, “and you’ve managed to interrupt a very interesting conversation.”

Lostwithiel looked quite taken aback by her tone and fell quiet whilst she and Thorin continued their intimate chat which quite excluded him. Thorin was smiling to himself. Poor Lostwithiel! He looked quite crestfallen. Good, he thought.

The evening came to an end and Lostwithiel was feeling sullen. Was Thorin not content with his lot? He already had Tauriel, so what was this interest in Challis? He maliciously wondered if he should let slip to Tauriel what her husband had been up to this evening. But Thorin was finally leaving and, at last, he had Challis all to himself.

“He was wonderful!” breathed Challis. “You must feel so lucky to have someone like that working along with you.” And she watched Thorin swagger down the room until he had disappeared from view.

“He’s got a very beautiful wife!” snapped Lostwithiel. And then he bit his tongue. This was no way to win her heart and he switched back into smooth elf lord mode, making sure that she knew how he had saved Thorin’s life during the orc raid on his forge and how he had delivered his daughter. This second piece of information usually really impressed the ladies. Challis’ eyes glowed. But she seemed more interested in how Thorin had almost singlehandedly fought off 40 orcs and in the radiant beauty of the children he had produced than hearing about Lostwithiel’s dealings in these matters. By the time he parted from her, Thorin was definitely not Lostwithiel’s favourite person.

Thorin, meanwhile, whistled as he walked back to his rented house by the estuary. Well, Lostwithiel might think that he was in love with Challis but, from the way she had flirted with him this evening – and in front of the elf too – she definitely wasn’t in love with Lostwithiel. 

.o00o. 

Pt IV

 

“Where is everybody?” asked Thorin when he got back home the following afternoon.

“Well, Rose is in the forge,” said Tauriel, “and Poppy is having a nap and Arion is out riding Warg.”

“Good,” said Thorin, and spent the next five minutes giving her a thorough kissing just to show how much he had missed her.

“And did your trip meet with success?” she asked when she was allowed to draw breath.

“Yes, I think it did,” he said with a satisfied grin. “I have established that Challis is not in love with Lostwithiel which will doubtless cheer up Rose just a little bit. But, he’s working on her. Who knows if she won’t change her mind in a few weeks’ time. I need to press on with my plan.”

“What’s she like?” asked Tauriel.

“Oh, a bit like you,” he said, nuzzling her neck and heading for that fascinating ear-lobe.

“Really?” she said, looking pleased. “In what way?”

“Oh, same colour hair, same figure.......The only difference is that she’s younger, nearer my age,” he grinned. “Perhaps we’d be better suited.”

She snorted indignantly and pushed him away. “Well, no more kisses for you today,” she said, “if you’d prefer them from Challis.”

“Oh, I’d much, much rather have them from you,” he said, pulling her back into his arms. “With old age comes experience.” And he made for the ear-lobe again.

.o0o. 

Rose was cheered a little by what Thorin had found out. “But, it’s her birthday next week and when he gives her that bracelet, it’s bound to soften her up.”

“They’re holding a party for her up at the outpost,” Thorin said. “We’re all invited.”

Rose groaned. “Parties create an artificial situation – just right for people to fall in love. And I’ll have to sit in a corner and watch them together,” she said.

“Then you two will just have to help me with the next phase of my plan, won’t you?” Thorin said.

Tauriel was going up to the outpost the next day for her weekly visit and Thorin gave her a mysterious parcel to hand over to Lithin. The silver bracelet was completed and after they had all admired it because it really was quite beautiful – “You tried too hard there,” said Thorin – this was also given to Tauriel to take to the outpost as well.

“I want that bracelet, Rosie,” said Poppy.

“Well, you can’t have it because it’s not for you,” snapped Rose.

“But,” said Tauriel as she saw her daughter’s lip quiver, “perhaps Rose can make you one all for yourself.”

Thorin saw the look of disapproval that Arion and Rose gave Tauriel and knew that they were right. He sighed. “No,” he said, “you’re not old enough yet for silver bracelets. You can’t have everything you want.”

Poppy started to grizzle, a bit taken aback that her father had denied her. Looks flashed back and forth across the room and they all ignored her. In the end, she shut up. We’ve got a lot of ground to make up there, thought Thorin, and it’s our own fault.

“Don’t forget to write that poetry,” Thorin said.

“No,” Tauriel replied. “I’ll do it now.”

Arion and Rose raised their eyebrows in curiosity and Thorin winked.

.o00o. 

The day of the birthday party came and the family set out. Thorin rode his horse, Rose her pony, Arion was on Warg and Tauriel drove the trap with Poppy on the seat beside her while Dog came trotting behind. The back of the trap was absolutely filled with cakes and also bunches of flowers from the garden that Thorin had dug for Tauriel when they had got back from their exile six years earlier. This was their present to Challis and a contribution to the birthday fun.

When they arrived, the troop came out to greet them, Challis among them. She was wide-eyed when she saw Warg and Arion introduced the creature to her. Warg was now fully-grown and was larger than Arion’s pony, Blue. In many ways, he was beautiful, covered in white fur as he was. But his size and ferocity were terrifying.

Arion did his bit. “Most of the troop up here are a bit wary of Warg, but Lithin gets on well with him and isn’t afraid. He’s the only one who has ridden him apart from myself.”

She looked amazed. “Lithin?” she said.

“Yes,” he replied. “Lithin looks quiet but he’s really brave once you get to know him.” And Arion sauntered off to stable Warg, leaving Challis with some interesting thoughts.

Everyone was wearing smart clothing and Rose was surprised at how pretty damn good Lithin was looking. His outfit was made of a material that had a silvery sheen and really made him stand out from the crowd. For a change, he was holding himself up well. “I had a talk to him about posture the other day,” said Tauriel, “and what he was going to wear today. He’s had that outfit for some time but has always been too shy to wear it because it’s so distinctive.”

“He looks really handsome,” said Rose.

“What I want to know,” said Thorin, “is why you can’t fall in love with Lithin? He’s so much nicer than Lostwithiel.”

“Well,” said Rose, “Lostwithiel suits me, in the same way that you suited Tauriel and she didn’t fall for Thranduil – even though,” she added with a dig, “Thranduil was obviously the sensible one to go for.”

“I’ll go along with that,” grinned Thorin. “But, before we set this plan in motion and take an irrevocable step, are you sure it’s Lostwithiel and not Lithin you want?”

“Absolutely sure,” said Rose firmly. “I’m a girl who knows her own mind.”

“Right,” said Thorin as he looked around his family. “Forward, the Oakenshields!”

.o00o. 

When Challis saw Tauriel, she felt quite despondent. She wasn’t sure what she had been hoping but she had dreamt about Thorin every night for the past week. Now the beautiful Tauriel completely put the lid on her fantasy. She sighed. None of the other elves at the outpost seemed to measure up to him. She rather liked Lostwithiel and he had certainly been very attentive since her arrival in Ered Luin. And now that Arion had mentioned his courage, she was beginning to see Lithin in a new light. Hmmm, she thought.

“So, you’ve definitely decided to join us?” asked Tauriel.

“If you’ll have me,” she smiled.

“And how do you think you’ll cope with only the company of men all week?” Tauriel continued.

“Well, it could be fun,” grinned Challis. “They’re a fine-looking bunch, aren’t they?”

“I tend to think that now, but you should have seen them when they first arrived,” said their captain.

Challis giggled. “But now they’re fighting fit, aren’t they? And so handsome.”

“Yes,” said Tauriel casually. “And Lithin looks particularly fine tonight in that beautiful outfit. And he’s such a lovely person too. I’m surprised that no elf lady has made off with him yet.” And, with that carefully planted thought, she drifted away.

They all enjoyed the food and then it was time for present giving. Mostly, she was given items of jewellery, and so Lostwithiel’s bracelet didn’t quite stand out as much as he had hoped. But, Rose’s work was very beautiful and Challis admired it for some time before, finally, putting it on her wrist. That was a good sign, thought Lostwithiel.

Last came Lithin’s present, the mysterious long package that the children had seen their mother take up to the outpost. “My suggestion,” Tauriel whispered to them. Inside was a beautifully crafted dwarven bow with mystic runes carved on it and with its ends tipped with silver. It was accompanied by a quiver of arrows. “Your father was making it for you,” Tauriel said to Rose, “but he was pretty confident you wouldn’t mind.”

Challis looked vaguely confused.

“Oh, I’ve got one of those!” exclaimed Arion. “They’re really good.”

“Yes, I’ve got one too,” said Rose. “Come outside and try it out.”

So, off they went to the butts and had a practice. By the time Challis and the children came back an hour later, her eyes were glowing with excitement. “Thank you so much, Lithin,” she said. “What an unusual gift! It’s wonderful and so thoughtful!” Lithin smiled modestly.

Challis had enjoyed the company of Arion and Rose and now Rose chatted with her further.

“You’re so pretty,” said Rose, “I’m sure that all the men of this troop will be fighting over you.” 

Challis blushed. “Oh, don’t exaggerate, Rose,” she said modestly.

“I’m not exaggerating,” Rose said. “I know of at least one of them who is already head over heels in love with you.”

“Oh, tell me,” said the elf and her face lit up with excitement.

“Well, I won’t tell you, I’ll show you,” said Rose mysteriously. “It’s something I came across the last time I was up here.” And she led her out of the farmhouse and into the neighbouring woods.

Meanwhile, Thorin was filling Lithin in on the story so far. “It’s going very well,” he said. “She’ll be desperately in love with you before the day’s out.”

“You really think so?” asked Lithin in wonder.

“Oh, yes,” said Thorin airily. “She’s already told Tauriel that she thinks you’re the handsomest elf in the room. And didn’t you see the way she looked at you after you gave her that present?”

“No?” said Lithin.

“Well, if that look wasn’t the first signs of passion then I don’t know anything about love.”

They all knew that what Thorin didn’t know about love was not worth knowing – or so the rumour went. Lithin stood up taller.

“That’s the spirit,” said Thorin. “Have you got that poem?”

“Yes,” said Lithin and he patted his pocket.

Down in the woods, Rose was showing Challis a carving on a tree. Lithin loves Challis, it said. And it was set within a heart and surrounded by beautifully carved birds and flowers. He had done a good job, thought Rose, and wondered with a grin if Lostwithiel would do anything so romantic for her. Probably not.

“Why,” said Challis, “that’s quite lovely.”

“He’s been pining away for love of you ever since he saw you a month ago,” Rose said. 

“Oh, the poor lad,” said the tender-hearted Challis and her eyes gleamed with sympathetic tears.

As they approached the farmhouse, they saw Lithin standing outside and, seeing them, he came over. Rose quietly slipped away. Lithin felt a confidence he had never known before. Thorin had seen the beginnings of love in Challis’ eyes and he was determined not to miss his chance. He stared into the elf’s grey eyes, trying to find what Thorin had noticed. Challis stared back, searching for all that love that she had seen carved on the tree.

“I have another birthday present for you,” he said, “but it was one I wanted to give you in private.” And he handed over a rolled sheet of parchment tied with a pretty ribbon. She unrolled it and her eyes widened. It was a love poem, addressed to her and beautifully presented, written in a rolling script and decorated with exquisite drawings all around the edges.

She read it slowly, savouring its content and meaning. “That was absolutely lovely,” she breathed at last. She looked up at him and her lips trembled. And Lithin took her face in his hands and kissed her.

.o00o. 

Later, as the evening came, Rose found Lostwithiel outside, sitting with his back against the farmhouse wall and looking quite miserable. She sat down next to him. “She doesn’t love me,” he said. “She’s in love with Lithin.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“I saw him kiss her,” he said.

“Ah,” said Rose. And she put her arm about his shoulder. “Someone will love you in the end,” she said.

“Well,” I hope it’s someone as beautiful and as kind as you, Rose,” he said.

Just wait for me, she thought. Just a few more years. And the wall felt warm and comforting against her back.

.o00o. 

They got back down from the farmhouse quite late, just as the last light of a summer’s twilight was disappearing. Arion had run out of steam and Poppy was already asleep so their parents tucked them into bed. Rose was tired but happy. She hugged Thorin. “What a plan!” she grinned. “You’ve given me a chance. Thank you so much!” And she kissed him.

“Off to bed with you!” he said but he was feeling very pleased with himself.

Tauriel took Thorin’s hand and led him to their bedroom. “My,” she said. “I never knew I was married to such a clever, conniving husband. Do you think that Rose will now live happily ever after?”

“Well,” he said, undoing all the buttons on her dress, “I think she’s in with a chance now.” And he slipped off her dress and picked her up in his arms. “But, the interesting thing is,” he continued, laying her down on the bed and undoing his own buttons, “is that I reckon that Lithin and Challis have a chance of living happily ever after too.”

And then he snuggled down on the bed with her. “What do you think our chances are?” he said as he found her elusive ear-lobe again.

“Chances of what?” she murmured as she stroked his plaits and kissed his throat.

“Our chances of living happily ever after,” he grunted as he began to slide on top of her.

“Well, I think we’ve made a good start, don’t you?” she smiled, and she seized his plaits and pulled him down towards her lips and kissed him tenderly.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Suitors. And so, Rose is in with a chance as far as Lostwithiel is concerned. But, next week, she finds herself with not one, not two, but three suitors on her hands…..and perhaps more. What will she do when faced with such a choice?


	18. Thorin and the Suitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With this episode, we take another step forward in Rose’s love life. Is Lostwithiel still available? Is Rose still waiting for him? Has another suitor (or more) entered the scene? And will Thorin be able to cope? The answers to this and more can be found in the following story. Enjoy the ride, LOL!

Thorin and the Suitors  
Pt I

Tauriel was in the kitchen, Poppy was mooching around feeling bored because no-one was taking any notice of her and Arion was playing with his large set of wooden soldiers. Well, not playing, exactly. The figures were divided into elves and orcs and he was working out complex military tactics, practising for the time when he would become a soldier himself up at his mother’s outpost.

“Can I play with you?” asked Poppy.

“I’m not playing,” he answered brusquely.

“Well, can I play with just these?” she said, and, without waiting for a reply, she picked up a handful of elves, totally messing up several carefully-placed ranks.

“Now look what you’ve done!” he snapped and he grabbed them back from her and gave her a slight push away from his battle-field. She was such a nuisance. Poppy might be six, but she was a spoiled brat!

Poppy stood there for a moment, twisting one of her golden curls around a finger. Then she stood in the middle of the room and started crying her eyes out. Arion looked startled, but she backed away from him and ran into the kitchen, clutching Tauriel by the skirt. Tauriel looked concerned and scooped her up in her arms: “What’s wrong, precious?” she said.

Poppy looked pathetic and tear-stained. “It’s Arion! He snatched my toys from me and pushed me and hurt me,” she wailed. And she put her little arms about her mother’s neck, burying her pretty face in her neck.

Arion ran in after her – he knew what his sister was like. “No, I did not!” he protested. “She stole my toys and I was only getting them back!”

Tauriel sighed. She and Thorin had somehow taken a wrong turn with Poppy. She was badly spoiled and now it was proving difficult to put wrong decisions right. She set Poppy down, even though the child was still sobbing and clinging to her skirt. “Go to your room, sweetheart, and play with your dolls. I want to talk to your brother.” Poppy gave a big sniff and, casting Arion a pleased look, went off to her room.

“It’s not fair!” cried Arion. “It’s always me who’s wrong and who gets punished.”

“No,” said his mother, “you’re not in trouble but I do want to talk to you.” And she led him back into the sitting-room and sat down with him. “Where to begin?” she murmured. “Do you remember when you were a toddler and Rose came?”

Yes, he nodded. It was his earliest memory.

“Well, perhaps you don’t remember what it was like before, but your father was usually working in the forge and I was working in the house and you were quite a lonely little boy, with no-one else to play with.”

“But, then, Rose came,” he grinned.

“Yes, and then Rose came and she’s been a devoted playmate ever since – your friend, your sister, even a second mother.”

“She saved me from the pirates,” he said.

“She did indeed,” confirmed Tauriel, “and you’ve never had a boring or lonely moment since.”

Arion looked at his mother and wondered where she was going with this.

“And then Poppy was born and you helped and you were wonderful.” She smiled and stroked his dark curls. “We never thought we’d have any more children after you.”

“Yes, I know,” said Arion grumpily, staring down at the floor. “She’s special and you and father make that pretty clear.”

“Oh, Arion,” said Tauriel, and she put her arm around his shoulder. “All of you are special. You’re special because you were the first; Rose is special because she came so unexpectedly into our lives and Poppy is special because she’s likely to be our last. And I’m so sorry if we’ve made you feel otherwise.” Arion looked slightly mollified.

“But,” continued his mother, “the problem with being the first is that you’re often asked to take some responsibility and to make allowances for younger siblings; and the problem for Rose being in the middle, is that she sometimes must feel neither one thing nor the other; and the problem with being the youngest is that you’re often left out of things. And then you cause trouble to get attention.”

Arion pulled a face. “Yes, I understand that, but Poppy is so boring to play with. She really is so girly.”

“And I can imagine that Rose often found you boring, too, but she persevered nonetheless,” retorted his mother.

Arion raised an eyebrow at the thought that he was ever boring.

“Well,” suggested Tauriel, “if you can’t bear to play with her, perhaps she can be useful to you.” Arion looked doubtful. “Why don’t you take her out to the stables and get her to help you muck out. And perhaps she can do some grooming too. She’s always been a favourite with Warg.” This last annoyed Arion a little but it was true. The creature had seen her being born – it had SMELLED her being born and her scent had created a weird sort of affection in him. He had recognised her baby status right from the off and he seemed to feel the urge to guard and protect. The little girl was perfectly safe with the huge, terrifying beast.

“I’m sure that Warg would let Poppy ride him. Perhaps you could start giving her riding lessons. She’d enjoy that - and I think you’d enjoy it too. She’d really love you for it.”

Arion considered what she said and then nodded. “All right, I’ll give it a try,” he said. “Perhaps I have been a bit mean with her. But, in return, I want you and father to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” smiled Tauriel.

“PLEASE try really hard not to call her ‘precious’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘princess’!” 

.o00o. 

As Arion strode out to the stables with Poppy trotting happily behind him, the children passed their father coming from the forge. Thorin entered the house just as Tauriel was about to return to the kitchen. He pulled off his leather apron and then tugged off his singlet, wiping his face and chest with it before plonking himself down at the table. “It’s not time for food yet,” said Tauriel in surprise.

“I know it’s not,” he said, “but it was time to get out of that forge and away from all of them before they drove me mad.”

Tauriel laughed and came over and sat on his lap. She ran her hand over his chest and then down his strong arms, feeling the flex of his biceps. “You should walk around like this more often,” she whispered. And she kissed him gently on the lips.

“Wouldn’t I be too much of a distraction?” he said huskily.

“A distraction from housework would be more than welcome,” she grinned, “but perhaps not while we’ve got a houseful of people.”

Thorin sighed. “You should see what’s going on in that forge at the moment,” he said.

Rose was out there, working on some jewellery commissions. Darri, her long-time dwarf friend, was also out there, working away on the anvil. He was staying with them for a few weeks, not only to see Rose but also to benefit from some expert tuition in smithing from Thorin. And, also out there was Lostwithiel. He was very friendly with Thorin and his captain, Tauriel, but, over the years, Rose had become more and more important to him. She was 17 now and absolutely beautiful. However, not only was she beautiful, but her magnetic personality seemed to attract everyone who came into contact with her.

Lostwithiel would laugh and call her bossy, but she was slowly becoming a significant person in his life and, whenever he visited, ostensibly to have a chat with his captain or a drink with Thorin, he would find himself drifting out to the forge more and more so that he could have a chat with Rose instead. “She’s a good friend,” he would say to the elves up at the outpost who were also very fond of her, and he didn’t seem to realise that she was becoming more than a friend to him.

Darri, on the other hand, had begun to realise that he had thought about her as more than a friend for some time now. He was a handsome lad – a bit on the short side but, like Thorin, he was well set up. Rose always thought he was very nice to look at especially when working in the forge. He had long, brown hair but no beard yet which bothered him. “But your stubble is coming along nicely,” Rose would laugh.

Rose enjoyed being with both of them – although perhaps not at the same time. Her feelings for Lostwithiel were the same as they had been a year ago; but, she had noticed that she seemed to be getting fonder of Darri. 

Lostwithiel was quite beautiful in that special elven way and she always felt alive when she was with him. He was witty and entertaining and kept her on her toes; she thoroughly enjoyed the banter that always seemed to dance between them. And she wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by those perfect lips.

On the other hand, in Darri’s company, she always felt completely relaxed. They had the same sense of humour and had the same passion for the forge. She wondered if he was just a friend but, at the same time, she also wondered what it would feel like to be held in those powerful arms.

.o00o.

Pt II

“So, what’s going on in the forge, then?” asked Tauriel, as she sat on Thorin’s lap and kissed his nose.

“Well, there’s a war going on. They’re both competing for Rose’s attention.” Thorin looked revolted. “Rose shouldn’t be encouraging them. She near enough told me she was a one-elf woman and that Lostwithiel was that elf.”

Tauriel laughed. “She’s been waiting so long for him that it looks as though she’s given Darri the opportunity to slip into her affections.”

“Well, you know I think that Lostwithiel is a fool,” snorted Thorin, “even if I do like him – a bit. And even if I did do my best to head off at the pass a potential rival love-interest and earned Rose’s undying gratitude. But, I must admit that, given the choice of an elf or a dwarf for a son-in-law, I’d take the dwarf any day.”

“Well, of course you would. You dwarves stick together.” And she gave his plaits a sharp tug.

“Ow,” said Thorin. “Well, I’d like to hear you say you’d take Darri over Lostwithiel.”

“If I thought him the best candidate then you WOULD hear me say that. But, Lostwithiel is her first love and I think he’ll be her last love. He’s a fine soldier and he saved your life.”

“And he’s very, very old,” said Thorin.

“Well,” said Tauriel indignantly, “so am I!”

“Ah, yes, my love,” murmured Thorin, nuzzling her neck, “but you’ve worn so well. No-one would ever guess.” And he placed his lips on hers before she could offer a retort, thinking that all he wanted for Rose was a love like that which existed between him and Tauriel. And he wondered if either Lostwithiel or Darri could offer her that.

Five minutes later, Tauriel rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Darri’s a lovely lad but he just doesn’t seem to have the passion and Lostwithiel is still teetering on the edge. I don’t believe he feels any more than friendship for Rose at the moment.”

“Well, I think you should have been out in that forge just now,” laughed Thorin, “and you wouldn’t be saying that. I think it’s just hit him between the eyes. He’s been edging Darri out of every conversation and is leaning over her, examining her work, with his arm around her shoulder.”

“Oh dear,” said Tauriel, sympathising with the young dwarf. “And what’s Darri doing about it?”

“Well, every time Lostwithiel tries to say something witty and charming, he hammers away on his anvil like mad and blocks out all conversation. It was at that point I gave up and made my exit.”

“It must be confusing for Rose to be suddenly besieged,” said Tauriel thoughtfully. “Perhaps she needs to get away so that she has some time to think. She needs to have her thoughts in order in case they both suddenly propose.”

“I’ve got to go down to the Grey Havens tomorrow for a few days,” suggested Thorin. “The shipping magnate, Barnaby Waller, wants me to make a whole load of things for him. He’s asked me to stay in his home while we talk over the designs. I could take Rose with me as my assistant.”

“Good idea,” said Tauriel. “I think that suggestion deserves an extra special kiss.”

“I thought all your kisses were special,” murmured Thorin against her lips. “What have I been missing?”

.o00o. 

Outside in the stable, Poppy and Arion were having a surprisingly good time together. He had shown her how to muck out the two ponies and had expected her to say that it was not the sort of yucky thing that princesses tended to do. He had almost wished that she would say that so that he could take her back inside and report back to Tauriel that he had done his best but that Poppy had been uncooperative. Instead, she set to with a will and, between them, they soon had the place clean and tidy. She enjoyed putting out the fresh straw and filling their mangers with oats and hay and making sure that they had plenty of water. Her pretty dress was filthy but she didn’t seem to notice and she soldiered on, standing on a box to help curry Blue and Little Beorn and plaiting their manes and tails.

“Great job!” said Arion and she beamed all over her little face.

Then Arion made a generous offer that he had been thinking about for some time. “You know,” he said in an off-hand manner, “I never ride Blue any more because I’m always on Warg. Rose has to exercise both of the ponies. How would you like it if I gave Blue to you and taught you to ride?”

Poppy’s mouth dropped open. Then she flung her arms around his waist and wouldn’t stop thanking him. Arion felt pleased but embarrassed and pushed her gently away. “That’s all right then. And perhaps you’d like to learn to ride Warg too,” he added. This produced more hugs and yelps of delight and Arion considered the pleasures to be got out of loving and giving.

Then they went next door and cleaned both Warg and his stable. And then Arion showed Poppy how to climb up on Warg’s back using his fur and how to hold on tight with her hands and her knees in the riding position. Warg-riders rode bare-back and Poppy seemed to get the hang of it straight away. And then he led her several times around the yard to give her the feel of things. Rose, Darri and Lostwithiel came out from the forge to watch and they all praised him for his patience. Arion decided that having a bratty little sister wasn’t so bad after all.

.o00o. 

They all assembled in the Hall for lunch and Tauriel had the opportunity to study the elf, the dwarf and her daughter together. Thorin was right. They were vying for her attention and Rose was not enjoying it. She nodded to Thorin and he made his suggestion to Rose of a trip to the Grey Havens the next day. She looked very pleased and said she could finish off her own commissions that afternoon and take them with her. Darri looked annoyed because it meant he would have to go without her for a few days and Lostwithiel looked smug because he had to return to the outpost that evening and he wasn’t happy at the thought of leaving Rose and Darri together.

Poppy gabbled away about how she had helped Arion and about her ride on Warg and the coming treat of learning to ride Blue and Arion smiled modestly as everyone told him what a wonderful brother he was.

Rose noticed that neither Tauriel nor Thorin called Poppy ‘precious’, or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘princess’ even once and she wondered why. But it was a great improvement.

.o00o. 

In bed that night, Tauriel told Thorin to talk to Rose about her feelings on the ride into town and she would have a chat with Darri. Tomorrow evening, when she did her stint up at the outpost, she would also have a talk with Lostwithiel. Once everyone’s cards were on the table then, perhaps, if it came to a proposal, Rose could make a sensible and informed choice.

“Were all the cards on the table when you picked me?” asked Thorin. “Did you make a sensible and informed choice?” And he pulled her to him and looked into her eyes.

“No,” she smiled, running her hands down his plaits and kissing the tip of his nose, “I knew nothing except that I loved you.”

“Well, there you go,” said Thorin. “So, why do we have to dig out all this information when no information was good enough for us?”

“Because she’s our daughter,” Tauriel said, “and you either have to be very clever or very lucky to make the right choice.”

“Well, I was very clever and very lucky to choose you,” said Thorin and he turned off the lamp.

.o00o. 

Pt III 

Thorin and Rose set off at a leisurely pace the next morning. Rose chattered easily with Thorin about the commissions she had just finished, about the new commissions they hoped to get and about Tauriel, Arion and Poppy.

Finally, Thorin said casually, “Did you have a good time with Darri and Lostwithiel yesterday?”

She paused before she said, “No, actually.”

Thorin feigned surprise: “Oh, really! Why is that? I thought you were the greatest of friends with both of them.”

“Well, I am,” she said hesitantly, “but, but.......” She stopped again, then looked at him as he rode beside her. “Do you think it sounds really arrogant of me if I say I think they’re both in love with me?.......And I feel really uncomfortable about it.”

“No, you’re not being arrogant, Rose,” he replied, “because I think it’s true.”

She looked surprised and then laughed. “It’s impossible to keep anything from you, isn’t it?”

“Or your mother,” he granted. “I noticed the way they were carrying on in the forge yesterday and I didn’t think you were very happy about it.”

“Well, it’s so silly, isn’t it?” she grinned. “Fancy fighting over me.”

“Yes, just fancy,” Thorin grinned back. “Fancy falling in love with and then fighting over the most beautiful girl for miles around! They must be mad.” 

And Rose leaned over and poked him hard in the ribs. “Get on with you! You’re such a tease,” she said and they had a good laugh. Then they became serious again.

“So, Rose,” said Thorin, “you’ve got what you wished for and Lostwithiel is now sighing over you, it would appear, in the same way as you sighed over him. And the problem is.....?”

Another long pause. “Well, there are lots of problems,” she finally replied. “It’s a bit upsetting to have two people in love with me because I don’t want to hurt either of them. Also, I don’t know how I feel about Darri any more. Am I in love with him too? If I am in love with both of them, which one do I prefer if I have to make a choice? And, if I don’t know which I prefer, does that mean, actually, that I’m in love with neither of them?”

“Hmmm,” said Thorin. “very sensible questions and not easily answered. That’s why I thought that a few days away from it all would help you get things sorted in your mind.”

“So, you don’t want me along with you as your assistant?” She sounded very disappointed.

“Of course I do,” he laughed, “but I thought we might kill two birds with one stone.”

Rose was riding side saddle because she had on a lovely dress designed to impress their new client. It was a crisp day in winter; the sky was very blue and they were both wearing their furs. Thorin still had plenty of gold left over from the dragon’s hoard and they were both earning good money from their commissions. But Thorin’s acquisitive nature tended to encourage him to build up his gold in the town vaults rather than spend it and the family had gently encouraged him to go on a bit of a spree in the past few months. They had all come to the Grey Havens and ordered themselves fine clothing for the special events that seemed to occur more frequently in their lives and, today, they entered the town looking very splendid indeed. Thorin was wearing his favourite blue velvet with a fur-lined coat and Rose looked elegant and quite severe in black velvet which was modified by a deep and luxurious blue fox collar. When they arrived at Barnaby Waller’s mansion, Thorin dismounted and helped his daughter from her horse and soon stable-boys came running to take away their mounts.

Thorin justified the expense of the clothes to himself by concluding that, if you presented yourself to a customer dressed in rich clothing, then they would take you seriously and be prepared to pay your prices. 

As they trod up the flight of stone steps, the wealthy merchant came out to meet them. He fussed around them, leading them into a luxuriously appointed room and plying them with refreshments and wine. Servants came to remove their furs and they were invited to take the most comfortable seats by the roaring log fire. 

Although he was impressed by their appearance, Waller was treating them like guests because he could see that a substantial profit could be made from the work of these smiths. It was not so much that he wanted objects of beauty for himself but he owned a whole fleet of trading ships and knew where he could sell their pieces in distant markets for much higher prices than could be achieved in Ered Luin. He wanted to go into business with Thorin and so the two sat down at the table with their heads together.

Rose was tired and bored and wandered around the room studying all the beautiful furniture and ornaments and wondering if this is what she wanted for herself. When Barnaby’s son, Roger, came into the room, his first sight of Rose was of her standing by the large marble fireplace, staring in contemplation into the flames, the candle-light flickering on her lovely face and her beautiful black hair falling in a mass of curls down to her waist. He stood motionless on the threshold for a good moment, quite stunned by the graceful and delightful picture presented to him and then he cried in an excited voice, “Rose!”

She raised her head at her name and gazed wide-eyed at the handsome, dark-haired youth who was walking eagerly towards her across the room. “Roger!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands and grasping his in her own.

.o00o. 

While Thorin and Rose were riding off to the Grey Havens, Tauriel was chatting with Darri. He was very busy working on some farm implements for Thorin in his absence and so she had taken him some bread and cheese and a mug of beer into the forge. He grinned amiably at her and bit off a chunk of bread with strong, even teeth.

“No, sit down,” she said, “and take a small break.” They sat together at the workbench and Tauriel thought what a nice lad he was. Darri was 40 but, by dwarf count, he was still a young man – and looked it, too. He had a fresh, open face and, like most dwarves, a heavy, muscular build. He was always smiling and always good-natured, someone whom it was fun to be with. He was hard-working too and came from a decent, well-thought-of family. Like Dis, his mother had been very supportive of Tauriel when she had first moved into the area and he and Rose had got along brilliantly together from the word go.

If Rose chose Darri, she was sure that he would look after her devotedly for the rest of their lives together; so why did she hesitate, thought Tauriel? Was it because she wanted for her daughter the same depth of passion that she had experienced with Thorin and she just had a feeling that he would not supply it? Or was it because he was a dwarf? Now, that was an odd thing to think since she had married a dwarf herself, but her elven nature still felt that perhaps an elf-lord might be a better catch for Rose or even a man, one of her own kind, where there were no worries about different rates of aging and immortality.

Tauriel was blunt about it: “You’re in love with Rose, aren’t you, Darri? So I suppose I’d better ask you what your intentions are.” And she laughed.

Darri looked up sharply from his food. “I might have known that you would have guessed, Tauriel,” he said with a smile. “Trust a mother.” He paused for a moment. “Yes, I am and have been for some time. We became friends the moment we first met. I’ve always thought that there was no-one like her. My feelings of friendship gradually turned to love some time ago as we got older and I cannot imagine myself married to anyone else.”

“And what would your mother say?” asked Tauriel. “Wouldn’t she want you to marry one of your own kind?”

“Well, perhaps she would, but there are so few dwarf women around that she’d be more than happy if I gave her grandchildren by whatever means,” he laughed. “And she loves Rose, too. I think my mother is hoping that there is a betrothal in the wind.”

“And you’d like to join our family?”

“It would be a great honour,” he said seriously. “And the thought of working with Thorin and Rose in this forge brings tremendous pleasure to me.” Yes, there was that, Tauriel thought. The three of them shared this intense common interest between them and it was a very important part of all of their lives.

“And do you intend to propose?” she asked.

“Well, I was going to wait a couple of years because she’s still very young, but,” and he pulled a face, “Lostwithiel has suddenly become a rival and I don’t want to lose her just because I was a bit tardy with my offer.”

Tauriel patted his hand in a kindly fashion. “We’ll just have to see what Rose decides. She went away with Thorin just so that she could have a think about things. She knows how you both feel, so you need to let her sort it all out in her own time.”

Darri nodded and went back to his anvil but, once Tauriel had left the forge, he began to worry about Rose thinking through things on her own with only Thorin to advise her. Which way would Thorin suggest that she jump? Would he think that a dwarven smith, like himself, was a good choice? Or would he feel that an elf lord was somehow a step up in the world? After all, he was very happily married to an elf himself. Darri ran his hand though his hair in frustration, then put down his tools and started to make plans to follow her to the Grey Havens. 

.o00o. 

Pt IV

“Roger!” cried Rose, clasping his hands. He was a face from the past and she hadn’t seen him for years.

The merchant looked up from the table where he was sitting in deep conference with Thorin. “Well,” he said, “I wondered if you two would recognise each other, but I suppose that companions in crime have a special bond.” And he laughed.

The penny suddenly dropped for Thorin. “You weren’t one of Rose’s little friends who went on a rampage through the market square all those years ago, were you?” he asked. Then turning to Waller, he said, “I’m surprised you’ve let us over your doorstep. The Oakenshield family didn’t exactly make themselves popular that day.”

“Well,” said Waller, “I’m not one for letting a small incident like that get in the way of good business. But,” he continued, waggling his finger at Rose and Roger who were still standing there clasping each other’s hands, “just don’t let it happen again.” And he chuckled jovially.

The two young people went off to sit in a corner where they could renew their acquaintance. Roger gazed at Rose with awe. She was stunning, absolutely stunning. She looked so different from that skinny, large-eyed, short-haired urchin who had persuaded him to be wickedly naughty in the market square, and yet he would have known her anywhere. She had attracted him like a magnet then and he discovered that he was still attracted to her now.

Rose gazed at Roger in amazement too. She also would have recognised him anywhere. He had been one of her most ardent followers. A handsome child then, now he was tall and very goodlooking, clean-shaven like an elf and with long, floppy, dark hair. They looked into each other’s eyes for a good five minutes, not feeling the need to talk. And then they burst into an excited chatter that completely absorbed them for the rest of the evening. 

His father smiled indulgently at the young couple. He hadn’t known that Thorin intended to bring his daughter but, now that he had, the two of them really seemed to be hitting it off together. And, the greedy merchant was not averse at all to his son hooking up with the daughter of an ex king, a daughter who was likely to inherit a share of a dragon’s hoard. His mind leaped confidently ahead; for what girl could resist his dashing and handsome son? He thought about her work as a female smith. Well, that would have to go once they were married. They would move into their own apartments in his large mansion and she would learn to be the most beautiful and the most successful hostess in the town. Yes, that would get plenty of business rolling in. And Barnaby could scarcely stop himself from rubbing his hands with glee.

Thorin saw his daughter making an apparently delighted connection with Roger and didn’t know what to think. A third suitor! This just made things even more complicated and he thought they had come to the Grey Havens to get away from things like this. Thorin felt confused and had a bit of a glower. If only Tauriel were here. 

.o00o. 

Tauriel, meanwhile, had ridden to the outpost late that afternoon. She was staying there until the following day but would return home before dark. After a meal with her men, she cornered Lostwithiel and was equally blunt with him.

“Tell me about your feelings for my daughter,” she said. 

She looked at the elf lord closely. He was so devilishly handsome – some people would say beautiful – and his looks had even improved since he became one of her men. What did he have in his favour? Well, he was an elf, of course, and, that was good as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want to feel this bias but it was there all the same. And he was witty and charming and graceful. Rose seemed to light up in his company and their bantering always made Tauriel smile. And he had been very important in her family: he had saved Thorin’s life, rescued Arion from the warg and had helped her give birth to Poppy. And so they owed him a lot. He was a good man to have around in a tight corner and she was sure he would try to be a good husband to Rose. But – and this was a mark against him – what would happen to his job up at the outpost once they were married? Would he feel obliged to give it up and then would he simply return to being a courtier with all the wafting and lethargy that that implied? And what damage would it do to their relationship? And, of course, there was the immortality issue that she and Thorin struggled with.

Lostwithiel had looked startled at her question but now he smiled and answered smoothly. “Ah, you noticed,” he said. “Well, my feelings for Rose have been growing quietly now, I reckon, for a long time – I just didn’t recognise them. Then, suddenly the other day, I looked at her and was nearly bowled over by the power of my emotions.” Good, thought Tauriel. Passion. That’s what Rose needs. “And, you know that we’ve been good friends ever since we first met and that we’ve faced a lot of things together.” He gave her a charming, quirky smile and was obviously talking about Poppy’s birth. “And she was so kind and supportive to me when Challis preferred Lithin. Perhaps I should have recognised my feelings for her then, but she seemed so young. Now, with Darri in love with her too.......” And he trailed off.

“You don’t want to miss your chance,” Tauriel finished for him. He nodded. “Well,” she said, “you know that she’s gone to the Grey Havens with Thorin – part of that is so she can have a bit of a think about what she feels for both of you.” And then she patted him on the hand and went about her duties.

Lostwithiel was upset. So, she was off with Thorin, having a think. Well, that might sink his chances completely. There had always been a certain edginess between him and the dwarf and surely Thorin would favour Darri as one of his own kind and a smith, to boot!? As soon as Tauriel left for home, Lostwithiel felt that he really ought to get down to the Grey Havens before Thorin influenced his daughter’s mind.

.o00o. 

The next day, Thorin and Rose were closeted with the merchant all morning discussing details of the jewellery he wanted them to make for him. Then they gave Rose the afternoon off and she went out for a ride with Roger. They had a wonderful time together and it seemed that neither of them could talk fast enough as they tried to fill each other in on the events of the past eight years. Finally they came home to eat and then discussed what to do that evening.

“Would you like to go to The Mithril Crown?” Roger asked. “It’s a jolly place and loads of our old gang still meet up there. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see you.”

This seemed like a good idea but Thorin felt vaguely unhappy and made her promise that she wouldn’t return too late. “I’ll wait up,” he said.

She promised and off they set.

Meanwhile, some hours earlier, Darri had already set out from the forge, leaving the children in the care of Dis whilst Lostwithiel had, at roughly the same time, set out from the outpost.

.o00o. 

The Mithril Crown was packed. Through the smoky gloom, lit only by a small number of candles, Roger could see a bunch of their old friends in the corner. “There they are,” he said to Rose, grabbing her by the hand and dragging her over to meet them. They were all excited to see her again and several rounds of drinks were circulated in celebration of their reunion.

In the opposite corner, watching them over the top of his glass, sat a heavily cloaked figure. He seemed to be focussed on Rose but it was difficult to tell because all you could really see were two grey eyes staring steadily out from underneath a dark hood.

Things were getting livelier and the friends were getting wilder and more drunk. Roger was sitting there with his arm around Rose when, suddenly, he turned to speak to her. Their faces were very close and Roger, seeing her lips only fractionally away from his own, couldn’t resist them and bent forward to lock her in his arms and give her a passionate kiss.

Lostwithiel and Darri had arrived at the merchant’s house at precisely the same time as each other and now, armed with information from the servants as to Rose’s whereabouts, they were striding silently through the streets of the Grey Havens, shoulder to shoulder, not speaking to each other and with their faces drawn into a tight, angry mask. Each thought the other an intruder on the private scene they meant to have with Rose.

They entered the Mithril Crown together, just as Roger was kissing Rose, and they let out a howl of rage. They strode across the room and, before the young man knew what was happening, they seized him by the collar and dragged him from his seat. They spun him around and both hit him at the same time. As his friends leaped up to enter the fray, the whole room seemed to erupt. Their action provided the regulars of the inn with a good excuse to hit someone and, within moments, the whole room was on its feet, engaged in the brawl. 

When Rose saw Lostwithiel and Darri strike Roger, she shouted at them to stop but the mayhem drowned out her protests. And so, she dodged between the flying fists and boots in an attempt to reach their side. Lostwithiel, Darri and Roger were all in a circle ineffectually flailing at each other when Rose tried to part them. But the room was dark and noisy and heaving and they didn’t hear her cries. Suddenly, Roger’s fist, which was intended for Lostwithiel, connected with Rose instead. In the midst of the chaos, nobody noticed her fall nor did they realise that a young girl was being trampled underfoot. Well, no-one noticed except one – the cloaked stranger in the corner.

He leaped across the room and, shouldering the brawlers aside, scooped her up from the floor and, holding her to his broad chest, carried her out of danger and into the cold night air. The fresh air revived her and she found herself looking up into a pair of calm, grey eyes which were set in a grave and sternly smiling face. She was totally confident that she was being saved and not being kidnapped. She could hear the steady beat of his heart and she relaxed against him.

She asked for his name and his reply surprised her. “Telbarad, a Ranger of the North, at your service, lady. Have you heard of the Rangers?”

“Of course I have,” she replied scornfully. “My father is Thorin Oakenshield and my mother is Tauriel, captain of the Ered Luin outpost.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I know of both of them.” 

For a few moments, he gazed down at her and Rose looked silently back. His eyes seemed to lock with her own and Rose felt as if her heart were smiling. But then he asked where he could take her and he carried her to Roger’s home. She could have walked but the Ranger seemed more than happy to hold her and Rose was more than happy to lie with her head against his beating heart. Her father was waiting up, as he had promised, and came running across the room as Telbarad entered with her in his arms. “A brawl at the Mithril Crown,” he said briefly and then he placed her gently in a chair. 

Thorin ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what your mother will say,” he said. “I shall be in real hot water when she finds out.”

“Does she need to find out?” asked Rose.

“Well,” said Thorin, “I doubt if you’ll be able to keep that black eye from her.”

Rose’s hand flew to her eye and the stranger laughed. “Don’t worry, my lady. Nothing can spoil your radiant beauty.” And his silvery eyes glittered. Then he introduced himself to Thorin and Thorin recognised his name.

“Ah, one of the heroes of our northern borders,” he said. “Let me take you by the hand.” And he shook it with real feeling.

At that moment, Roger, Lostwithiel and Darri staggered in, covered in blood and bruises. “There she is,” said Roger, “quite alive. And now you know, I think you can both get out of my home.”

But, Barnaby Waller made his entrance too and stood in appalled silence as he saw his damaged offspring and his battered companions. Then he said: “All of you can get out. Thorin, the contracts are cancelled. Everything you touch turns to disaster and the ring-leader always seems to be Rose. She’s a trouble-maker and I don’t want her near my son.” And, before anyone could say anything, he had turned on his heel and left the room. 

Roger took Rose’s hand and squeezed it: “Don’t worry, he shan’t keep me away from you,” he said.

“I’ll show you to a clean, decent inn,” said Telbarad and an attractive smile appeared on his rugged face. Now there’s a man, thought Thorin. If only Rose would set her sights on him or he on her. But the next morning, as they said goodbye to him at the inn, this did not seem so unlikely. As Telbarad held Rose’s hand, apparently reluctant to let it go, she also seemed reluctant to part from him.

“Can you visit us,” she asked, “as you travel through the area? I’m sure my mother would like to meet you.”

“And I her,” he said. Then he bowed, got on his horse and rode away. He glanced back to raise his hand in farewell just before he was out of sight. Rose let out a big sigh. “What an amazing man,” she said.

Suitor number four, thought Thorin.

.o00o. 

Thorin was home in bed with Tauriel. Yes, she had been really mad with him and Darri and Rose when they arrived back but now they lay on their backs holding hands.

“FOUR of them,” said Tauriel. “I can hardly believe it!”

“Well,” said Thorin, “the way things are going, I reckon that there could be even more before the year’s out.”

“What about these latest two?” she asked him. “Do you think they’re stronger candidates than Lostwithiel or Darri?”

“Roger’s a nice boy, but a bit too young yet. And, even if we give him a few years to mature, I’m confident we’ll get a lot of opposition from his father,” Thorin mused. “I can imagine he’s concluded that we’re not the sort of family he wants Roger marrying into.”

“And what about this Ranger?” Tauriel asked with interest. “A Numenorean, descended from the Faithful. Just think about having one of those in the family.”

“Handsome, strong, stern, calm. He’s the sort of man that I’d like to have as a friend. And I reckon he’d soon sort Rose out. There was an instant attraction between them.”

“But?” Tauriel asked.

“But, we’ve got another older man here. I know he’s one of the Dunedain – a long-lived group. But, age-wise, Roger seems to suit her best......” He paused. “I really don’t know.”

“And neither do I,” Tauriel sighed. “Perhaps we ought to stop worrying and just let it all come out in the wash.”

“Yes, let’s stop worrying,” said Thorin, turning towards her and pulling her tightly against him. “Let’s just think about you and me – for one night, at least.”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” murmured Tauriel. “What are you thinking, Thorin?”

“Oh, I was just thinking how beautiful you are and how much I like being in bed with you. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that you feel really good,” she whispered, caressing him, “and that I’m not very interested in going to sleep tonight.” And then she leaned across him and turned down the lamp.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Ranger. So, how interested is Telbarad in Rose? And will he do anything about it? And what will Thorin do about Telbarad? Things get serious in more ways than one.


	19. Thorin and the Ranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this episode, Rose finally makes her choice. Is he Thorin’s choice too?

Thorin and the Ranger  
Pt I

Telbarad rode down from his camp in the North. It had been six months since he was last in the Grey Havens. Now he was off to visit the Ered Luin outpost and, after that, he would ride down to the forge to meet up with the dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield, his wife, Tauriel – and his daughter, Rose. Ah, Rose. She had often been in his thoughts in the past weeks. Their paths had briefly crossed when he had saved her from injury at the Mithril Crown but he had been drawn to her and, he was sure, she had been drawn to him.

When he sat by his campfire at night and saw her face dancing in the flames, he almost – metaphorically - slapped his wrist. What was he thinking? He was 70 – although in the count of ordinary men he seemed only 35 and was likely to outlive her. And yet, she was a mere girl of 18. Surely she was much too young for him? But, in Middle-earth, where elves lived forever and dwarves might expect to reach 250 years at least, just like his own kind, the Numenoreans, the lifespan of ordinary men and women seemed so brief that surely their time should be seized and enjoyed before their bloom faded? At least, that was what Telbarad was telling himself.

He had never been in love before. His whole life since he could shoot a bow and wield a sword had been spent in the defence of Middle-earth. Love seemed a frivolous thing when the lives of so many hung in the balance if they did but know it. Yes, if they did but know it. He thought of the hobbits of the Shire whose borders he guarded. They passed their lives merrily and peacefully, seemingly totally unaware of the dedication and the sacrifice of those who protected them. And, we are so few, he thought. Long-lived, maybe, but not long-lived enough to outlast the evil that threatened them all.

And perhaps that was why his thoughts now turned to love and marriage and children, children who could grow up and continue the work of the Dunedain. And, if he married an older woman, their time together would be so brief. Better to marry a young girl, particularly a girl like Rose who had an old and wise soul. The minute he had set eyes on her in the Mithril Crown, he had sensed that.

And so, he was going to search her out at her home in the forge and he would cast his cap in the air and see if she were willing to catch it.

But now he was approaching the farmhouse that provided Ered Luin with its only outpost. It had been Gandalf’s idea: this rural district needed to be protected in the same way that the Rangers provided protection along the borders – a camp from which elven patrols could operate. He nodded in approval as he saw its sweeping position and the woods and the stream. The farmhouse looked orderly and well-cared for and, as he approached, he was confronted by a sentry.

Borondin almost guessed from the grey cloak, the silver star that pinned it and the stern bearing of the rider that this was a Ranger. Through the ages of Middle-earth, the elves and the Rangers had worked closely together and he welcomed Telbarad as a brother. When he escorted him up to the farmhouse, Lostwithiel recognised him at once and took him inside to offer him refreshments. “Our captain, Tauriel, will be here later in the day,” he said, “and she will be more than pleased to meet you, particularly after you rescued her daughter from that, um, tricky incident at the Mithril Crown.” And Lostwithiel looked vaguely embarrassed.

Telbarad looked askance at the elf lord and wondered what his relationship was with Rose. He had seen Roger kiss her and then Lostwithiel and a young dwarf had seized him and started a fight. Was it over Rose or something else? And, for the first time he wondered how many rivals he had. 

The elf showed him around and the Ranger congratulated him on all that he saw. Everything was well under control. The whole troop looked surprisingly strapping for elves and he imagined that their fitness was connected to the hard, athletic life that they endured at the outpost. Lostwithiel, meanwhile, was thinking the same about Telbarad. They sometimes complained about their lifestyle, he thought, but the Rangers spent years moving from camp to camp and travelling hundreds of miles. Telbarad was extremely handsome but in that hard and weathered way that affected men who endured great hardships. He was very striking, tall and broad and muscular with dishevelled, dark brown hair that fell upon his shoulders and a short, clipped beard. His expression was stern and brooding but, when he smiled, his whole face softened. He looks like a “human” version of Thorin, thought Lostwithiel, and wondered what he was doing back in the area so soon.

An hour later, Tauriel appeared and, with her, Arion, riding Warg. He spent the odd day up at the outpost with his mother, getting a feel for a place that he hoped to call home in a few years’ time and training Warg to get along with the troop and their horses. Telbarad was taken aback when he saw Warg and, instinctively, his hand went for his sword. But Arion just climbed down from the creature’s back and laughed. “You won’t be needing that,” he said. “He’s on our side.” And Warg allowed the Ranger to approach him and stroke him.

And then he turned to Tauriel and, bowing low over her hand, apologised for being distracted. “What a truly lovely woman,” he thought. She looked too beautiful to be captain of a troop of soldiers but then he saw the respect in the eyes of the elf lords and the way they deferred to her. She must have been tough with them, he grinned to himself, and perhaps that’s why they were so impressive.

They all sat down and talked about their duties and their work at the outpost and, when evening came, he volunteered to go out on night patrol with Lostwithiel and five others. They crossed paths with the day patrol and Telbarad was interested to meet Challis and Lithin who were wearing silver betrothal rings around their necks. “And will you return to the Grey Havens once you are married?” he asked. But they looked surprised and showed him an outbuilding which was being converted to supply both married quarters and guest accommodation. “It’s lucky you’re out on night patrol,” they laughed, “because the place isn’t finished yet.”

After the patrol had set off, Tauriel sat and considered whether Telbarad had some reason for visiting the area other than checking out the farmhouse. She was impressed by him – by his looks, his demeanour, his intelligence, his quiet manner. He reminded her of Thorin. And this is what concerned her. She decided that it would be wrong to push Rose in this man’s direction just because she found him attractive herself. What would suit her, might not necessarily suit Rose.

The day came, the patrol returned after an uneventful night and they all went off to sleep, Telbarad on a bed roll in Tauriel’s office. He and the elves got together for food at midday and then Tauriel invited the Ranger down to the forge to meet up with Thorin. She thought he accepted her offer quite eagerly and that afternoon, she and Arion and Warg and Telbarad set off for home. Lostwithiel waved them off but felt disquieted: the Ranger had spent much of the night asking about the Oakenshield family in general and Rose in particular. He sighed. Not another hopeful lover to fight off, he thought.

He and Darri had both tacitly agreed to back off for the moment. The incident in the Mithril Crown had shaken them. Because of their jealousy, Rose might have been seriously hurt and it was only the quick action of the Ranger that had saved her from something no worse than a black eye. Roger was safely under the control of his father back in the Grey Havens – at least for the time being. And it seemed to the elf and the dwarf that Rose was not yet old enough to make decisions about her future life. And so they carried on as before, being friendly and charming and seeing her as much as possible but not trying to push her in any way.

But this Ranger was a new factor and he wondered what Rose had thought of her saviour. 

.o00o. 

When they reached the forge, Thorin, Rose and Poppy came eagerly out to meet them – then stopped in surprise on the threshold when they saw who was accompanying Tauriel. Thorin strode forward with his hand outstretched to the Ranger and they grasped each other by the arm. But Rose stood shyly in the doorway. She felt very excited to see him again but wasn’t sure how she should behave with him. Had he come to see Thorin or had he come to see her? She hoped very much that he had come to see her.

Telbarad stepped towards her, gently smiling. He took her hand and bowed low over it. Then he looked at her with those calm, grey eyes and said: “Hello, Rose.” He held one hand and she covered it with her other. It seemed right to hold him like this and wrong to let him go. 

She smiled back and said: “Hello, Ranger.” And he thought how very blue her eyes were. Thorin grinned to himself. There certainly was a connection. He looked across at Tauriel and Tauriel gave a little nod of agreement.

That evening, they all enjoyed a very pleasant meal together. Telbarad was so gentle with her that Rose began to relax and her normal lively manner began to show itself. Was Telbarad looking for someone quiet and biddable, Thorin wondered? Because he wouldn’t find it in Rose. It was best she showed that side of herself before things went much further. And he began to tell Telbarad about the naughty things Rose had got up to when she was a child. But the Ranger began to laugh and Rose, instead of being embarrassed, began to elaborate on her adventures until they were all roaring. Poppy sat there wide-eyed, finding it difficult to believe that her big sister had done all these things whilst at the same time telling her how to behave and not to behave.

Telbarad laughed more that evening than he had done in a long time. Rose was even more wonderful than he had at first believed. Not only was she beautiful; she was strong, she was full of spirit and she made him happy. When he heard about her childhood it broke his heart and he wished he had been there to protect her; and when Arion told him how she had jumped into the sea with him in order to escape the pirates, his heart lifted at her courage. She was utterly amazing and utterly beautiful and he wanted her. 

.o00o. 

Pt II

In bed that night, Tauriel and Thorin discussed the new man in Rose’s life. “I like him so much,” sighed Tauriel.

“Hey!” grunted Thorin. “Don’t like him too much or I shall be jealous again.”

“Well, perhaps he’s a bit TOO young for me,” she grinned. “He’s only seventy, after all!”

“A mere stripling,” Thorin snorted in response, “but doubtless full of energy!”

“Why, goodness, you old man! It sounds as if you think you’re running out of steam,” she laughed.

“Not for a few years yet, I hope,” whispered Thorin in his dark, husky voice. And Tauriel felt the usual thrill run through her and wound him tightly in her arms.

.o00o. 

The next morning, Rose took Telbarad out to the forge and showed him the commissions that she was working on and the Ranger was very impressed. “So, you make jewellery, then?” he asked.

She laughed. “No, I’m a smith,” she said. “I can make more than pretty jewellery.” And when he raised his eyebrow in disbelief, she brought out the sword that she had recently made for herself. It was an extremely fine piece and he was in awe of her skill. “Thorin’s giving me lessons in swordsmanship,” she said.

“I find it hard to believe,” he smiled, “that such a willowy, beautiful young girl like yourself could beat metal into shape with a hammer.”

She laughed again and took off her jacket, exposing her bare arms. Then she picked up a hammer and demonstrated her strength on an iron farm implement that she was in the middle of making. But, she also tucked away in the corner of her mind his remark that he thought her beautiful.

Telbarad couldn’t take his eyes off her arms as she worked, watching the muscles flex beneath the white skin. When she had finished and held the piece out for his inspection, he came forward and softly ran his fingers down the length of them, from shoulder to wrist so that she shivered at his touch. Then he took the implement and the hammer from her hands and put them aside. And then he slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her close to him. They looked into each other’s eyes, the blue and the grey, and he said: “Your work is beautiful. But, then, everything about you is beautiful, Rose.” And he leaned forward and kissed her very gently on the lips.

Apart from Roger’s snatched kiss in the Mithril Crown, this was Rose’s first experience of the real thing. She had imagined Lostwithiel and Darri kissing her but those fantasy kisses were nothing like this and she responded to him, sliding her hands behind his neck and bringing him firmly down on her mouth. His tongue parted her lips and she opened to him. Telbarad pushed her against a pillar and locked her in a passionate embrace. Her heart was banging against her ribs and the world seemed to turn about her. Was this love, she wondered? 

She heard his breath quickening and realised that hers was getting faster too as an exploring hand ran down her body. But he gasped and suddenly pulled himself away and walked out of the forge. And when Rose went to the door, he was nowhere to be seen. She stood there trembling and feeling very confused about his reaction to what had been, for her, a wonderful moment. She drank some water from the pump in the corner, took a deep breath and then walked back to the house. 

“Did he like your work?” Tauriel asked, looking up from an item she was sewing. Poppy was playing on the floor and Thorin was still finishing off his breakfast.

“Yes, I think he did,” responded Rose vaguely.

“Well,” said Thorin, swallowing the last mouthful, “I should hope so, too. You’ve learned everything from me and you’ve learned it well.” And he looked annoyed that Telbarad had not been more effusive in his admiration for his remarkable daughter.

“Where is he now?” he continued. “I want to talk to him about orcs.”

“I don’t know where he went after he left the forge,” replied Rose in a distant voice and her mother stopped sewing and looked at her for a moment.

“Well, it’s a lovely morning,” she said. “Why don’t you go down and look for him by the river. It’s so pretty there at the moment and I told him about it just before you two went to the forge.”

“All right,” said Rose, and off she went.

Tauriel furrowed her brows and then suggested that Poppy go and help Arion with Warg in the stables. After the little girl had skipped out of the room, she said, “I wonder if they’ve had some kind of lover’s tiff? Something’s happened, anyway.”

His wife understood much more than he did about stuff like this and so Thorin deferred to her opinion. “What do you think they might have argued about?” he asked curiously.

“Perhaps he got a bit too passionate in the forge and it frightened her,” said Tauriel.

Thorin spluttered on his drink. “You mean you think they were up to something in the forge?”

“More than likely,” said Tauriel calmly.

“And you sent her off to find him by the river so that they can get up to a bit more? What kind of mother does that?” said Thorin in disbelief.

“The sensible mother who wants the best for her daughter. They need time together on their own, time to get to know each other. He’ll be gone soon.”

“Well,” snarled Thorin, rising to his feet. “I’m not so sure I want Telbarad to 'know' Rose!” And he marched towards the door.

“Where are you going, Thorin?” asked his wife.

“Down to the river. Where do you think?” he snapped.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” shouted Tauriel after him. But Thorin ignored her and she rolled up her eyes. 

.o00o. 

Rose had found Telbarad down by the river as Tauriel had guessed. He was standing quietly, leaning against a willow tree and gazing into the water. He was thinking about various experiences in his adult life when he had slept with the occasional lady of the town or an older woman looking for intimacy. But, nothing had prepared him for his reaction when he had taken Rose in his arms. It had been so powerful that he knew he had to get out of the forge before something happened that he didn’t want to happen. Dwarves and elves were so chaste in their love, unlike men. They were not intimate until they were betrothed and then that intimacy meant you were as good as married; and, after that, you were each other’s forever. Is that what Rose would expect, as a child raised by a dwarf and an elf? He knew how he felt about Rose, but did Rose know how she felt about him? He remembered how he had nearly forced himself upon her and was determined to give her that chance to decide what it was she wanted.

“Telbarad?” she said. She had followed him and now he felt cornered. He gazed at her gravely and she walked forward and took him firmly by the hands. “I’m not a child,” she said.

“Aren’t you?” he responded with a wry smile.

“No,” she continued. “I grew up very quickly in those first eight years of my life. I experienced so much and saw so much that sometimes, looking back, I feel like an old woman.”

“A very beautiful old woman,” he whispered and he ran his finger along her jaw.

“I want you to kiss me again,” she said, and she lifted her face to his and closed her eyes.

The Ranger couldn’t resist her and placed his lips on hers. Then, with a sigh, she pulled him down onto the grassy river bank and he rolled on top of her. The kiss was as deep and as powerful as the one he had experienced in the forge. But, just as he was becoming lost in her, Thorin’s voice yelled, “Get off my daughter!” They both turned their heads and looked up dazedly at the angry dwarf. Telbarad was not a naughty youngster caught out doing something he shouldn’t, and so he sat up slowly and leaned an arm on a raised knee and looked quizzically at Thorin.

Rose sat up slowly too and then she laughed. She laughed? That was the last thing Thorin had expected and he blinked. “Oh, Thorin,” she said, smiling affectionately at him. “I was only kissing him. I think I’m old enough for that, aren’t I?”

“No,” Thorin replied, “because I’m old enough to know that it doesn’t stop at kissing.”

“I know you know,” said Rose cheekily. “Tauriel has told me all about that first time in Lake Town and you yourself have told me how you sent her away, back to Mirkwood.” She wagged her finger at him. “Shouldn’t you have married her after Lake Town? Aren’t those the rules?”

Thorin felt his past catching up with him and opened then closed his mouth. Rose saw the confused look on his face and got up and hugged him. “I love you, Thorin,” she whispered. “And I know how much you love me. But, please trust me to sort this one out on my own.” She kissed him gently on the cheek. Then he hugged her back and turned to Telbarad. “Just don’t hurt her,” he said. And then he stomped away.

Telbarad stood up as Thorin left the clearing and took Rose in his arms once more. “That was very brave of you, Rose,” he smiled. 

“Not brave at all,” she said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of with Thorin.”

“There isn’t?” he grinned. “Well, he frightens me.”

“No, Thorin is the loveliest person I’ve ever met. You just have to talk to him properly, that’s all, and tease him a bit.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m facing an angry father.” And he gave her his slow, grave smile.

“Before we go any further,” said Rose, “I want to show you something.”

“Ah, so we’re going further?” he was about to say but he saw the serious look on her face and so said nothing.

She took a pace backwards and began to unbutton her blouse and when all the buttons were undone and he could see her white skin peeping out from between the folds, she pulled her long hair over her shoulder so that it fell down over her breast. Then she suddenly turned around and let the blouse fall from her shoulders to her waist. His breath caught in his throat. Her back was a mass of welts and scars.

“Does it disgust you?” she asked quietly. “Because, if it does, there’s no point in going any further, is there?” And she turned back to him and clutched the material to her breast. He stared at her for a moment and then let out his breath in a burst.

“Did Thorin do that to you?” he asked angrily.

She rolled her eyes up. “You’re not listening, are you? Of course he didn’t! But my real father did. He beat me regularly, sometimes daily, for something and nothing when I was a small child. So,” she said again, “does it disgust you?” And she looked up at him anxiously.

Telbarad folded her gently in his arms. “Nothing about you could ever disgust me, Rose,” he said. And he slipped his hands under her blouse and tenderly caressed her back, running his fingers delicately over the ugly ridges. “But it does give me pain.”

“It upset Thorin and Tauriel for a long time too,” she said. “But ever since I came to live with them at the forge, no-one has ever hurt me again – except for the odd black eye at the Mithril Crown,” she grinned.

Telbarad kissed her; and then he slowly buttoned up her blouse. And they sat together under the willow tree for a long time, watching the river flow past. Then, hand in hand, they walked back to the forge. 

.o00o. 

Pt III

Lostwithiel had felt concerned as he had waved the Ranger off the previous day. Suddenly, he realised that Rose’s suitors were probably facing a very big challenge from this man. He considered whether or not he should meet this challenge on his own or with some support and decided that there was strength in numbers. 

The following day, he would be taking some time off and so he made a few plans. He would go down to the forge via the dwarven settlement and pick up Darri and he would send a message to Roger via Challis who was visiting the Grey Havens that evening. They would all meet up at the forge the next morning and make quite sure that Telbarad didn’t steal their thunder. The three of them had an understanding between them that they would play the game in a right and proper manner but Telbarad looked like the sort of man who might think that all was fair in love and war.

And so, early the next morning, Lostwithiel rode off to let Darri know what was happening whilst Roger told his father that he was visiting friends and set out from the Grey Havens.

At the forge, Thorin had just returned from the river bank. Tauriel raised an eyebrow. “So, she sent you packing with a flea in your ear, then?” she asked.

Thorin glowered and then he had to laugh. “Of course she did. I found them rolling around in the grass but, when I objected, she just read me a little homily about my behaviour with you at Lake Town and calmly suggested that I go away and let her sort out her own life.”

“That’s our Rose,” smiled Tauriel. She went to him and smoothed away the frown lines from his forehead. “We both approve of Telbarad and it’s not always that parents approve of their offspring’s choice. She’s a wise child with an old head on young shoulders. Let her find her own way.”

“But I’m really worried,” said Thorin, putting his arms around her. “What if he – you know – and then goes off and we never see him again?”

“You mean, just like you did, Thorin?” she asked gently.

“Yes, just like I did,” he said honestly. “And I want more happiness and less pain for Rose.”

“How can Rose be more happy than we’ve been?” she asked. “I know we want to shield her and protect her, but I think the time has come to let her go.” And she gently pulled his head down upon her breast. Thorin sighed to himself. I could happily stay here forever, he thought, closing his eyes. But it was at that moment that they heard the sound of horses entering the yard.

Lostwithiel and Darri came riding in with, by coincidence, Roger arriving right behind them. At that precise moment too, Telbarad and Rose came wandering up from the river, hand in hand. The three horsemen dismounted and glared at them just as Tauriel and Thorin opened the door. Arion and Poppy stuck their noses out of the stables to see what was going on.

“I don’t want any trouble, lads,” growled Thorin, stepping forward to stand between the two groups. Rose was looking indignant and Telbarad seemed amused.

“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” said Lostwithiel. “We’re here to make sure that Rose makes the right choice and isn’t pushed into something that, deep down, she knows is wrong for her.”

“Well,” said Rose in irritation, “if I know it’s wrong for me, deep down or otherwise, I shan’t make that choice.”

“Come on, Rose,” said Darri in his kind, sensible voice, “just listen to us - that’s all we ask. Then you can kick us out if you still want to.”

“Yes,” echoed Roger. “Just give us all a fair and equal crack at the whip.”

“All right,” sighed Thorin, “everyone had better come in.” And everyone did come in including Arion and Poppy and Dog.

All nine of them sat around the dining table and you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. Arion and Poppy sat wide-eyed, excited that they had been let into an adult discussion. “Right,” said Tauriel, “all four of you are interested in my daughter, Rose. Is that right?” And Lostwithiel, Darri, Roger and Telbarad nodded.

“And,” rumbled Thorin, “you’re here today in the hope that she will make a choice?” They all nodded again. “Well,” continued Thorin, “I think we should start by giving everyone a chance to say their piece and explain why they think that they are the best husband for Rose.” And they all nodded once more. Then Thorin gestured to Lostwithiel to speak first.

The elf lord stood up and cleared his throat and said: “Well, I’ve known Rose ever since she was ten and we’ve been through a lot together. Our biggest moment was when I helped her to deliver her baby sister, Poppy, on the first day that I met her and we’ve become closer and closer since that day.” And he smiled at Rose and Poppy and Poppy blew him a little kiss. “At first, I saw her just as a friend and she gave me a lot of emotional support when I lost Challis to Lithin just as I supported her after Poppy was born. Then, suddenly, she grew up into a beautiful young woman and I realised I was in love with her. The whole family is very important to me. Her mother is my captain,” and he grinned and gave Tauriel a mock salute, “and, although this might seem like a boast, I have saved her father’s life during an orc attack.” Thorin nodded in agreement. “We could live up in the married quarters at the outpost, where she could usefully carry on her work as a smith. We would see her mother at least once a week up there and we could visit the forge quite frequently. It would make me very proud not only to marry Rose but to be part of this amazing family.” And then he cleared his throat again and sat down. Rose smiled across the table at him as she remembered various moments in their life together.

Thorin nodded to Darri next and the young dwarf stood up nervously, not convinced that he could outdo the eloquence of the elf. “Well, um, well,” he began. But then he got into his stride. “I’ve known Rose since she was first adopted by Thorin and Tauriel when she was eight. She visited Dis up at the dwarven settlement quite frequently and we used to play together. We’ve got the same sense of humour and we used to get into an awful lot of trouble” – Rose burst out laughing – “but I did help to save her when she got trapped in the caves after the roof collapsed on her. I’ve been in love with her for some time now and I know I would be a devoted husband. Most importantly, I’m a smith, just like her and Thorin. We have the same passion and we could go on together in our married life, working together and creating together, perhaps here with Thorin, if that’s what she wants, or perhaps in our own forge.” He thought for a moment and then said: “That’s all,” and sat down abruptly. Rose was sitting next to him and patted him on the hand. 

Next, it was Roger’s turn and the handsome, well-educated young man stood up with a certain amount of self -assurance. “I’ve known Rose almost as long as Darri and first met her at a picnic in the Grey Havens when we were children. She stunned me even as a child. She was the most amazing girl I had ever seen and, amongst the group of children she gathered around her, I was her most ardent follower, even going on a rampage through the market square because she suggested it. I got a really good belting for that from my father. But,” he grinned, “it was worth it.” He smiled at Rose and she gave him a big smile back. “And, then, she went out of my life for years until 6 months ago when Thorin brought her to my house on business. I can’t tell you how overwhelmed I was and I knew straight away that I wanted her for my wife. If she chose me, I could offer her an elegant and comfortable life-style and my father, who has got over the trouble that we caused in the Mithril Crown, could provide us with a large apartment in his mansion. She would be very helpful in our family business and she would never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life. Finally,” he said, glaring at his rivals, “I would like to point out that I am the only one who is the same age and the only one who is from the same race. Surely that counts for something?” Rose nodded at him in a kindly fashion and then they all turned to face Telbarad. 

Telbarad got slowly to his feet with a wry smile on his face. “Well, what have you got to offer my daughter, Ranger?” Thorin asked.

“Not a lot,” he answered and his grey eyes looked coolly around the table whilst his rivals looked back in amazement.

“Then tell us about the little that you think you do bring,” said Tauriel with a look of amusement on her face.

“Well, I haven’t known her for years like everyone else but neither did I spend a period of time when I only thought of her as a friend. The minute I first saw her at the Mithril Crown six months ago – across a crowded room,” and he gave his slow smile again, “I fell for her. I knew straight away that she wasn’t an ordinary person and, by the time I parted from her the next day, I knew I would be coming back for her. And, no, I’m not the same age as her, like Roger, and I can’t offer her a comfortable lifestyle in a large mansion, nor would I be able to live and work with her at the forge, like Darri, nor do I have the elegance and immortality nor the close ties with her family, like Lostwithiel. All I have to offer is my love and my passion. And I know that these things will be for life.” He turned and looked at Rose and something so powerful passed between them that the other suitors realised that they had somehow been outgunned and sprang angrily to their feet.

“You can’t offer her anything!” shouted Roger. “Where are you going to live? Do you expect her to wander from camp to camp along the borders with you?”

“Yes,” Telbarad calmly replied.

“And have you no qualms,” said Darri angrily, “about putting her life in danger every day? If she marries me, then I will keep her safe.”

“We will share our lives and share the danger,” replied Telbarad. “Life isn’t all about being safe.”

“I want her to marry Lostwithiel,” grizzled Poppy, “because he’s wonderful and he’s nice to me.”

“Well,” snapped Roger at the little girl, “if he’s so wonderful, perhaps you’d better marry him.”

“I want her to marry Lostwithiel too,” shouted Arion. “Then, when I join the troop, I shall be able to see her every day.” 

“It’s not what you want, Arion,” said Tauriel. “It’s what Rose wants.”

“But does she know what she wants?” asked Lostwithiel. “She’s very young and that’s why we were giving her some space – before that Ranger turned up and pushed the issue.”

“I didn’t push anything,” replied Telbarad, still unruffled in the face of the increasing storm. “Sometimes things just happen.”

“Oh, do they just happen?” asked Lostwitihiel with an icy glare. “Or do some people manipulate the situation?”

And so they raged on with Dog giving his opinion with constant yapping and even Warg howling from the stables. In the end, Thorin stood up and yelled “Shut up!” And then he looked around the room and said: “Where’s Rose?”

There was consternation. They looked into the bedrooms and the kitchen and then went outside to the forge. Thorin checked out the stables and Tauriel’s horse was missing. “She’s run away,” said Thorin. “All your bad behaviour has made her panic.”

They looked aghast and Thorin began to search for tracks to see which way she had gone. But a large party of travellers had just gone past and it was impossible to tell which were Black Demon’s prints. “Right! Inside!” said Thorin grimly.

Once inside the hall, he produced a map and he split it up into areas and allotted the four suitors a section each for them to search. Roger looked despondently at the map. “We don’t know if she’s making for somewhere like the Grey Havens or if she’s taking refuge with a friend, like Dis, or if she’s just hiding in the woods somewhere so as to get away from us and have time to think. It could take days to find her.”

“Well, you’ve created the situation, so it’s up to you to sort it out,” growled Thorin. “I’ll stay here with my family in case she returns.”

“But how will we know if one of the others has found her or if she’s returned?” asked Lostwithiel.

“You won’t know,” snapped Thorin. “All you can do is make a thorough search of your allotted area and then return here to exchange information.” And then Tauriel made them all packs to take with them and they rode glumly away.

The children were looking miserable in a corner but Tauriel patted them cheerfully and said: “Don’t worry. Your father’s up to something. He’s guessed more than he’s letting on.” And she went up to Thorin and tugged him sharply by his plaits.

“Ow”” said Thorin, but he grinned. “How did you know, Tauriel?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, “if you really thought that Rose was out there, hysterically wandering in the wild, I honestly can’t imagine you volunteering to stay at home with the children. And I also noticed that you didn’t suggest the tracking services of either Dog or Warg, but bustled our brave suitors out the door before they had time to think things through.” She folded her arms. “So, tell us.”

Thorin grinned. “I don’t actually know but I can have a good guess,” he said. “Of course Rose hasn’t run away – but she has gone off to find some peace and quiet so that she can have a think. And I also imagine that she wants to do her thinking in the company of a quiet and sensible friend.” And he raised a querying eyebrow.

“Bilbo!” they all shouted as one.

“Snap!” ageed Thorin. “My very same thought. I sent that lot off on a fool’s errand because she obviously doesn’t want anyone to find her for the moment. But, I’m her father and I’m going to bring her home.”

The children cheered and Tauriel made up another pack. And then Thorin mounted his horse. “I’ll be a day or so,” he said. “Let’s hope her swains don’t work things out too soon so that we can all have some time to think when we get back.”

.o00o. 

Pt IV

Thorin drove his horse hard and made it to the Shire that night. When Bilbo opened the door, he didn’t look in the least bit surprised. And when the dwarf found Rose in the sitting-room drinking a nice cup of tea, his daughter grinned and said: “He always comes.”

After getting Thorin some refreshments, Bilbo said, “She’s been telling me all about her suitors and I’m making up a list of pros and cons for each of them.” And he waved a piece of paper. Rose came and sat on Thorin’s lap and Bilbo read out what he had noted so far.

“Pros for Roger: handsome, the same age, the same race, the only son and heir of a rich merchant, could provide a good home within father’s mansion, an ardent admirer of Rose since they first met, a sense of daring and fun, not too far away from the forge. Cons: Perhaps too young, never thought to seek Rose out as he got older, living with controlling father might prove difficult, father’s plans for her might not include smithing, too much boring socialising.”

“Hmmm,” said Thorin.

“Pros for Darri,” Bilbo continued. “Long-term friend, good-looking, GSOH, kind and thoughtful, a shared interest in smithing, would let Rose pursue her profession, could live with or near to Oakenshield family, same race as Rose’s father, long life-span. Cons: Older with three or four times Rose’s life expectancy, different race, shorter,” Thorin looked up indignantly, “easily manipulated, too kind for his own good, loving but not passionate.”

“Hmmm,” said Thorin again.

“Pros for Lostwithiel,” continued Bilbo. 

“There are pros for Lostwithiel?” asked Thorin sarcastically.

“Now stop it,” said Rose, digging him in the ribs.

“Tall,” said Bilbo and Thorin glared, “very handsome, wealthy, a member of the elven aristocracy, a fine soldier, a guardian of our borders, strong ties to Tauriel and Poppy, Thorin’s rescuer, immortal.” Thorin snorted a bit.

“And I’d also like to point out,” said Bilbo, pressing on with determination, “that the Oakenshields deliberately broke up a potential romance between him and Challis, thus depriving him of a possible life partner.” Rose looked guilty but Thorin just rolled up his eyes.

“Cons,” said Bilbo.

“Have we got time?” muttered Thorin.

“Shush, you naughty man,” said Rose.

“Cons,” repeated Bilbo. “Immortal, much, much older, easily gets in a flap, has not been a devoted lover but has fallen for Challis, too.”

“And others,” glowered Thorin.

“What?” said Rose in surprise.

“Nothing,” her father muttered.

“Can I get on with it?” asked Bilbo and they nodded. “Not the same race, might want to go back to being an idle courtier.”

“Is that it?” asked Thorin. “There must be more.”

“I’ll never know why your friendship is so edgy,” said Rose with a sigh.

“No, you won’t,” said Thorin and he compressed his lips.

“Pros for Telbarad,” said Bilbo forcefully. “Handsome, rugged, a warrior with strong protective instincts, calm and controlled....”

“You need to be if you want to be in this family,” said Thorin.

“Calm and controlled,” repeated Bilbo, knowing just what the dwarf meant. “Even-tempered, passionate.....” Rose grinned. 

“Did you suggest that one?” whispered Thorin. “I’d like to know why.”

“Passionate,” said Bilbo in a louder voice. “An honoured Numenorean, descended from the Faithful, long-lived, a noble defender of our borders, dedicated, brave, the parents’ choice.”

“Is that a pro?” asked Rose with a grin.

“Cons,” said Bilbo. “Not quite human, different life-span, seventy years old, has only just met Rose, will take her away to live a vagabond life-style on the northern borders.”

“That last isn’t a con,” said Rose, her eyes dancing with excitement. I’d love to be a Ranger. And just think how useful my smithing would be to them.”

“But what happens when you have children?” asked Bilbo seriously.

“Then we would have to make the sacrifice of all Dunedain,” she said softly. “I would have to take them to live with Elrond until they were old enough.”

“And is the sacrifice worth making?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “I think it is.”

“Then you might as well tear up that sheet of paper,” said Thorin, “because I think she’s made her choice.”

.o00o. 

Rose and Thorin set out from Bag End the next morning, hoping to get back to the forge by the early evening. Now that Rose had made up her mind, she couldn’t wait to get back to tell Tauriel. She laughed heartily when Thorin told her how he had sent off her suitors on a wild goose chase just so that no-one else but he would come for her. “I love you, Thorin,” she said. And Thorin smiled into his beard.

But, when they got back to the forge, Warg and Dog were howling and barking in their stable and the door of the hall was wide open. They ran to the house and found it empty: no sign of Tauriel, Arion or Poppy. But the place had been ransacked and showed signs of violent activity. They then ran to the stable that housed the ponies and there they found, to their horror, that the ponies lay dead with their throats cut. Thorin pulled Rose against his chest so that she wouldn’t see, but she had seen and she wept bitter tears. “What’s happened? What’s happened, Thorin?” she cried.

Thorin drew her away from the stables and back into the house. “They’re still alive,” he said, “but they’ve been taken captive.”

“By orcs again?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “I think it’s men. They’ve stolen things from the house that orcs wouldn’t bother with and orcs would only kill animals if they wanted to eat them. That was done out of sheer malice. It’s the sort of thing that men do if they want revenge. But I just can’t think of anyone at the moment who hates this family enough to do what has been done here.”

“Friends of the squatters?” suggested Rose.

“No.” Thorin shook his head. “No-one knows about that except us.”

“This is all my fault, Thorin,” wailed Rose. “If I hadn’t run away, Tauriel wouldn’t have been here on her own.”

“It’s the sole fault of the men who did this deed,” said Thorin. “Now I shall go and find your mother and your brother and your sister and bring them back.”

Rose hugged him and knew he would do what he had promised.

“How will you find them?” she asked.

“Listen to Warg howling,” he grinned. “I think he’s ready to rip a few throats out, don’t you think?”

“But will he let you ride him?” asked Rose.

“Yes,” said Thorin. “With his master gone, I’m the pack leader now.” And he strode out into the yard. He took his long-handled axe from his horse and strapped it on his back. “Now, I want you to lock yourself inside the house with Dog. And you’re not to let anyone in unless you know and trust them. Stand back from the stables. I’m going to let them out and they’ll both be wild.”

Rose stood back and held the horses and Thorin opened the stable door. Both Dog and Warg came out, lashing about them and snarling; Dog ran to Rose but Warg immediately made for the crossroads. “Heel!” cried Thorin in a commanding voice and, to Rose’s amazement, the creature stopped and turned although its body rippled and strained with the desire to be gone.

Thorin went to Warg and stroked and calmed him. “Stable those horses, Rose, in Warg’s section, then get inside the house.” And he moved to mount the giant white wolf. But, just at that moment, Telbarad came clattering into the yard. “What’s happened?” he asked grimly.

“The ponies have been killed, the hall ransacked and my family has been taken captive,” said Thorin shortly. 

The Ranger’s face grew grimmer still if that were possible. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

“It will have to be on Warg, then,” said the dwarf. “You’ll lose us on a horse.”

And so, Telbarad handed the reins of his horse to Rose and kissed her on the forehead. And Rose gave him a brief hug and urged him to go with a quick gesture of her hand. Then Thorin mounted Warg and pulled the Ranger up behind him and they were off like the wind in the direction of the Grey Havens. Thorin made no effort to guide him. Warg would know exactly where his master was.

As they sped along, Telbarad spoke over Thorin’s shoulder. “I soon worked out that you were playing a game with us. That’s why I’m back so soon. Where was she?”

“At Bilbo’s,” Thorin said. And the Ranger laughed to think of the three of them at Bag End, heads together and deciding on his fate.

“Don’t worry,” the dwarf continued. “It looks like you’re the one.”

“All the more reason, then, that I help to get my future in-laws back in one piece,” said Telbarad.

“Do you doubt that?” asked Thorin.

“No,” he said with a harsh laugh. “What men could withstand us three?” And Thorin echoed his laughter.

“I don’t think they’re far ahead of us,” said Thorin. “The tracks in and around the house were quite fresh and I reckon there were about a dozen of them.”

“Not too many, then,” said Telbarad.

A man after my own heart, thought Thorin.

“They won’t get far, now that it’s getting dark. They’ll pull right off the road to make camp on the assumption that no-one will find them.”

And Thorin was right. After less than an hour, Warg suddenly swerved off the road and into the trees. Thorin took the axe from his shoulder and Telbarad drew his sword. They plunged for half a mile through the woods until, ahead, they could see a camp fire glowing in the gathering gloom. Warg didn’t slow or hesitate but hurled himself into the glade, scattering the camp fire and the men and slashing at least two throats in passing. There was screaming and confusion and the dwarf and the Ranger leaped from the warg’s back. 

In an instant, Thorin took in the scene. Tauriel and the children were tied with their backs to a tree but they laughed and whooped triumphantly as the trio made their unexpected and violent appearance. Nine or ten men were left standing and they were attired like men of the South. “Corsairs!” muttered Thorin immediately. And as he whirled into action, it came as no surprise to him when he found himself face to face with Rose’s dad. The man held a sword in one hand and a short-handled axe in the other but he looked very frightened. “You do well to look afraid,” Thorin said to him just a moment before he struck off his head. He thought about the dead ponies and he thought about the scars on Rose’s back and felt absolutely no compunction at all that he had killed her father.

Warg was a killing machine. By the time Thorin and the Ranger had killed a couple of men each, the bodies of the rest lay strewn around the glade. Thorin ran to his family and cut them free. “We knew you would come,” grinned Arion.

“He always does,” smiled Tauriel and she drew him into her arms and kissed him thoroughly. The children totally ignored the gruesome sight of so many mangled bodies and ran to hug Warg. They buried their faces in his bloodstained fur and didn’t flinch.

“They deserved to die,” said Poppy. “They killed our ponies.” And everyone nodded in agreement.

“That’s one tough little sister-in-law I’ve got there,” said Telbarad.

“And who would have thought,” said Arion, “that only a year ago she was a revolting little princess?”

And then they gathered all the pirate horses together and chose three and the two children gleefully mounted on Warg, and with the spare horses in a train behind them, they rode back to the forge.

There were three horses already tethered in the yard and they realised that the other suitors had also returned. When Rose came to the door, she flung herself first upon her mother and her siblings and then into Telbarad’s arms. The others looked despondent. “Only one man can win,” Thorin tried to console them.

“I think we knew already what the outcome would be, but we didn’t want to go down without a fight,” said Lostwithiel and he went off to hear the details of Warg’s attack upon the Corsairs. This creature will be a fantastic asset, he thought, when Arion joins the troop.

Rose had kept herself busy, tidying and getting food ready in expectation of their return. So they all sat down and spent an uproarious evening together recounting their adventure.

“Rose’s dad was involved in a mutiny,” said Tauriel. “He and the crew took over the ship and he became the leader. He had been a galley slave for years and he came back to the Grey Havens with only one thought: he wanted his revenge on Rose. And when he didn’t find her here, he meant to sell us as slaves when he realised what we must mean to her. And he killed the ponies purely out of spite.”

“It was horrible,” said Poppy, “and I cried.” She was sitting on her father’s lap and she buried her face in his comforting shoulder.

“I’m glad my father’s dead,” said Rose ferociously, thinking of Little Beorn.

“But, the death of the ponies just hardened our hearts,” said Tauriel.

“Yes,” said Arion. “No mercy.”

“No mercy,” echoed Poppy viciously. And when they all looked in amazement at her, she explained that she was practising being tough for the time when she went up and joined the elven troop at the farmhouse.

“And Lostwithiel will have to wait for me now, because I’m going to marry him when I grow up.” And they all laughed. But Thorin thought to himself: you lot don’t know the determination of my daughter. That elf will join my family one way or another, I can see that.

And then they tucked the children into bed and the guests retired to the spare rooms for the night all except the Ranger who went out for a romantic moonlight stroll with Rose.

“Come to bed,” said Tauriel.

“No,” said Thorin stubbornly, “I’m waiting up for my daughter.”

“You might be waiting a long time,” sighed Tauriel. “They’re young and in love.”

“Telbarad isn’t young,” said Thorin looking grumpy.

“Well, he’s youngish,” said Tauriel. “And compared to me, Thorin, so are you. So, let’s go to bed and pretend that we haven’t been married for years and years but are just discovering love for the first time.”

And she took him by his plaits and drew him gently into the bedroom.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said in his dark, seductive voice. And he picked her up in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him.

.o00o. 

It was just as well that Thorin hadn’t decided to wait up. Down on the river bank, Telbarad was standing behind Rose, slowly and purposefully undoing all the pretty buttons down the back of her high-necked blouse. Like that time before, she had pulled her lovely black hair forward over her shoulder and was waiting with bent head for him to finish the task. Neither of them spoke and, in the silence, Rose could smell the perfume of the night-scented stock and hear the frogs croaking quietly in the river.

As he undid the last button, the Ranger realised that he was holding his breath and let it out with a long sigh. Then he stooped and kissed her on the side of her long, white neck. Rose started to turn in his arms, not wanting him to see the scars but he pushed the blouse down from her shoulders and held her gently. She made a murmur of protest but he shushed her and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck. Then she felt warm fingers begin to trace the pattern of ridges that her cruel father had placed there. She tensed but his light caresses were followed by his soft lips and he slowly moved down her back until he was kneeling. Holding her by her hips, he planted a last feather-light kiss at the hollow of her spine so that she quivered.

Her breathing had become ragged but he rose slowly to his feet again, and, when he had reached her neck, he buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair. She gave a gasp but then leaned back against his broad chest in a gesture of surrender. Only then did he allow her to turn in his arms and she let the blouse fall from her body onto the ground. 

Rose held the Ranger’s face between her hands and looked up at him, stroking his silken beard and gazing seriously into his eyes.

“I want you,” said Telbarad softly. “But it has to be your choice.” He struggled to keep his voice calm so that she would not be unfairly persuaded by the sound of his desire.

“I’ve made my choice,” she smiled and Telbarad slowly lowered her to the grass.

As a child, in the crowded hell-holes that her father had dragged her through, Rose had occasionally come across men and women coupling. It had seemed nasty and brutish and unpleasant and she wondered why any woman would willingly do it. But, she was a sensible girl and, once she had moved to the forge and saw the love that existed between Thorin and Tauriel, she couldn’t imagine Tauriel doing anything with Thorin that wasn’t pleasurable and wonderful. And what she experienced with Telbarad that night on the river bank was wonderful.

When it was finally over and they lay panting on the grass, Telbarad rolled over on his back, pulling her with him.

“Cor,” said Rose, feeling as though she were slowly floating back down to earth. “I liked that - can we do it again?”

And Telbarad lay there gasping for breath and snorting in disbelief. “Not yet, not yet, you insatiable hussy!” he managed to get out. 

“Well, perhaps after you’ve had a bit of a lie down?” she asked.

And he laughed uproariously and said: “Perhaps.”

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and his Son. Rose has left home and this creates a problem in the family. She was the glue that held them all together, especially the children, and Arion misses her the most. Will her absence cause a rift between Arion and his father?


	20. Thorin and his Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gets married in this episode and moves North but her absence has an effect on the entire family. Can Thorin cope? Can Arion cope? And, more importantly, does this change the dynamics between father and son? Hope you enjoy this one as Arion moves into the difficult teenage years.

Thorin and his Son  
Pt I

It had all started really, thought Tauriel, when Rose had got married. The elf lay on her back in bed with Thorin gently snoring and cuddled into her side, his great arm resting across her belly. The lamp was turned right down and she studied the cracks in the ceiling. No, it had happened before then, she reconsidered, the moment that Telbarad and Rose were betrothed and the Ranger had begun to visit on a regular basis. Thorin had become grumpy at that point.

She remembered how joyful the whole family had been when Rose and Telbarad exchanged rings. He was so right for their beloved, adopted daughter. They couldn’t have chosen better themselves. It was wonderful to see the love that glowed out of their eyes when they looked at each other. And Arion and Poppy also seemed pleased for their sister, even though they had originally voted for Lostwithiel. Rose had chosen a hard life but – anything that made her happy, seemed to be the consensus of opinion.

Telbarad had been gone for a few weeks after the betrothal and Rose seemed to be bearing it well. “I’ll have to get used to being parted from my husband,” she said, “when we move to the camps in the North. We’ll lead a disordered lifestyle there.” But, the day before Telbarad returned, Thorin found her making up the double bed in the guest suite.

“What are you doing?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“What do you think?” she laughed. “This is for me and Telbarad. We’re betrothed now, you know.”

Thorin fidgeted and glowered. “Lots of betrothed couples still wait until they’re married,” he finally said.

Rose looked up from the pillow she was fitting into its cover, then held it to her breast. She looked Thorin steadily in the eyes. “There’s nothing to wait for,” she said.

Thorin’s breath exploded from his lips. “What do you mean by that?” he snapped.

Rose still regarded him calmly. “I think you know what I mean, Thorin,” she said quietly. “Telbarad and I made love the night before we announced our betrothal.”

The pain that went through Thorin took him by surprise. He loved Rose and he was glad that Telbarad loved her too. He was a fine man – none better. And yet, and yet...... Rose was his child – a very grown up child, admittedly – but it seemed all wrong to think of her in this adult way. He looked at the bed and pushed away the images that danced in his head. Rose saw the confused look appear on his face. She put down the pillow and placed her hand gently on his arm. “You didn’t wait, did you?” she asked. “You just assumed that you would share a bed with Tauriel until you got married.”

There was no answer to that and it should have settled things. But Thorin just glared and stomped out of the room. Rose sighed. She had had a feeling that this was going to happen. She understood Thorin too well. They had a very special relationship – that bond had been there from the very first day they had met and was beyond kinship. And now that connection had to be carefully unravelled so that a new man could take Thorin’s place. Perhaps she had been wrong to make it so obvious that she and Telbarad now had a sexual relationship. What would her adopted father have preferred? For them to sneak off every night down to the river bank? 

Yes, that was exactly what Thorin would have preferred as he was explaining to Tauriel in the kitchen. “I just don’t want them doing it under my roof before they’re married,” he said. “I would prefer not to know what they’re up to. Why can’t they just sneak off somewhere and me know nothing about it?”

Tauriel slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. “You old hypocrite,” she teased gently. “You certainly didn’t wait until we were married – you didn’t even wait until we were betrothed.”

“Well,” he harrumphed, “that was different.” She raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was going to be killed by the dragon and that I would never see you again.”

“How very selfish of you,” she said, kissing him on the nose. “You might have left me alone and pregnant.”

“It wasn’t all my decision,” he retorted grumpily. “You did have some say in the matter. And, anyway, we didn’t sleep under my father’s roof so there weren’t his feelings to take into consideration.”

“And I don’t think your father’s roof would have stopped you, even if that had been where we slept,” laughed Tauriel, remembering his passion.

Thorin looked away because he had no answer and he found it impossible to explain to Tauriel what he couldn’t even explain to himself.

“Now, come on, take a deep breath and just accept things, Thorin. This is the way that it is between them and we should be celebrating the fact that she seems to have found that passion that we so wanted for her.”

She was right, of course. And so, he took that deep breath and, when Telbarad turned up the next day, he never guessed that Thorin was unhappy with the arrangements until Rose told him about it when they were both in bed together later that night. Telbarad’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want to upset Thorin,” he said. “I suppose we could sleep in separate rooms but it seems ridiculous to carry on behind his back for a whole year.”

“Don’t worry,” said Rose. “He’s just behaving in that possessive way that dwarves do. He’ll get over it after Tauriel has had a chat with him. Just don’t say anything – carry on as though nothing’s the matter.”

And so they did and Tauriel had thought that everything was going well until Arion came bursting into the kitchen two days later with a look of indignation on his face.

“Hey!” he said. “Did you know that Rose and Telbarad are sleeping together?” He had gone into the guest room and found their possessions lying on the made-up bed.

“Of course they are,” answered Tauriel. “They’re betrothed now.”

“And you don’t mind?” he asked. And a slightly angry tone had entered his voice.

Is this his dwarven side showing, Tauriel wondered with a sigh? “No, I don’t mind,” she said.

“Well, I’m going to speak to my father,” he said in a puritanical voice and, before she could stop him, he had swept out of the kitchen and had marched off to the forge.

And so, Thorin found himself playing Devil’s advocate. He entirely agreed with Arion’s attitude but felt he ought to support Tauriel and Rose. “It’s what people often do after they have exchanged rings,” he explained carefully.

“But, not everyone does it, do they?” muttered Arion. “And I don’t think my sister ought to. That’s not the way we should behave in this family.” And at that moment, he heard Rose and Telbarad come back from a ride out. “I’m going to talk to her about it,” he said, making for the door.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Thorin grabbing him by the arm. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s a decision a betrothed couple make between themselves. If you don’t want to have a really bad argument with your sister, you’ll leave things alone.”

Arion was growing into a tall, strapping lad and he easily shook off Thorin’s hand. He looked upset and glared at his father. “I thought you would agree with me,” he shouted. “I thought you would understand and do something about it. If she had chosen Lostwithiel, he would have behaved in a more decent manner because he knows the right and proper way to behave.” And he ran off into the stable next door to be with Dog and Warg who always agreed with all his opinions.

Fortunately, Telbarad was gone for a month the next day and this helped the situation to cool. By the time he came back, Thorin and Arion had taken a goodly number of deep breaths and managed to be civil to the happy couple.

And so the year passed and, at last, Rose and Telbarad were married.

.o00o. 

Pt II

The wedding was very beautiful and very enjoyable. It was held in the Mountain Eagle Inn, halfway between the forge and the dwarven settlement because, although it was only a relatively quiet ceremony, enough people had been invited that the forge was too small to take them all. 

Elrond had agreed to come so that he could marry them and he picked up Bilbo en route to Ered Luin. All the elves from the outpost were there, of course, plus Dis and Darri and his parents, representing the dwarves. Roger and his father had come from the Grey Havens and a handful of the Rangers who could be spared had travelled down from the North to support Telbarad.

The inn was a lovely place to hold a summer wedding. It was high up in the hills with magnificent views of the countryside all around. It was a very old building, full of charm and character, surrounded by beautiful gardens. Thorin and Tauriel squeezed each other’s hands as they remembered the first night they had met. Tauriel had been heading for the inn but had decided not to press on in the dark. When she stopped, instead, at Thorin’s forge, the beginnings of their first feelings for each other had started to grow.

The wedding ceremony itself was held out in the gardens and, when Rose appeared, accompanied by a very self-aware Poppy, and walked down through a floral archway in her lovely dress, everyone sighed at her beauty. Who would have imagined, thought Thorin, that he had brought home this exquisite creature slung over his saddle like a sack of grain? Of course, she hadn’t been exquisite then, but a scruffy street urchin. And what joy that naughty, brave and bloody-minded creature had brought into their lives! And now she was leaving them. Thorin moved forward to escort her to the flower strewn table where Elrond and Telbarad were waiting for them. He was going to hand her over to this man and he didn’t want to. A tear ran down his cheek and Rose looked up and wiped it away with a gentle smile. 

“It’s supposed to be a happy day, Thorin,” she whispered.

“I know it is,” he smiled back.

And so they were married and there was feasting and dancing and singing and laughter. Lostwithiel, Darri and Roger drowned their sorrows over their lost love and managed to corner Telbarad at one point during the evening. 

“You’ll be the best husband on Middle-earth or else you’ll answer to us,” warned Lostwithiel.

“Too true,” hiccupped Roger.

“’S’right,” slurred Darri.

And, after they had extracted a promise from him that he would, indeed, be the best husband ever, they staggered off, feeling that their duty was done, and collapsed in a corner.

Then, on a wonderful starlit night, and under a brilliant full moon, all the guests retired to their beds and sighed over young love. Rose and Telbarad stood on the balcony of their room and gazed out over the scene, breathing in the scented air.

“Are you happy?” asked Telbarad.

“I can’t tell you how much,” Rose smiled. 

And they turned to their own bed and their passion carried them into the night.

.o00o. 

The following day, Rose and Telbarad and the other Rangers set out for the North. There were some difficult goodbyes and Thorin and Tauriel wondered when they would see Rose again. Arion disappeared and couldn’t be found when the couple finally set off.

“He’s upset,” said Tauriel to Rose, “like we all are. But you two have been so close all your young lives. He’s really going to miss you.”

As they rode away, Telbarad grimaced. “I feel a certain hatred directed at me by the men of your family at the moment because I’ve taken you away from them.”

Rose leaned over from her horse and stroked his arm. “It’s hard for all of us,” she said. “I’ve belonged to a very wonderful family all these years and now I’m the first one to break it up. I’m a bit worried about Arion but, in the not too distant future, he’ll be off to join the outpost and he’ll have his own life. And then,” she laughed, “Poppy will marry Lostwithiel and Thorin and Tauriel will have their lives back again.”

Telbarad looked startled: “You don’t really think that Poppy will marry Lostwithiel, do you?”

“Of course she will. Poppy always gets her way.” And she laughed and turned her face to the North.

.o00o. 

Back at the forge, life did not return to normal. Now that Rose was no longer there, Tauriel began to realise what a buffer she had been. She had handled every one of them so well. With Tauriel, she had been kind, loving and supportive, helping her in so many ways and making her laugh. With the children, she had been firm and patient, often standing between the two of them, preventing fights and distracting them with her entertaining and imaginative ideas. Both Poppy and Arion always felt very special when Rose was around and they didn’t stay out of humour for very long when subjected to a bit of her coaxing and wheedling.

And Thorin...... Tauriel had to smile. He was just like another difficult child to Rose and she knew exactly how to tease him and jolly him along when he was grumpy and bad-tempered until he saw how silly he was being and could laugh at himself. That was how Tauriel herself managed him but it was so much easier with the two of them forming a pincer movement.

Tauriel sighed. Now Thorin and Arion, instead of getting over Rose’s absence, were both growing grumpier by the day. And, as for Poppy...... In the last couple of years, Arion and his sister had learned to get along pretty well together. But now they just seemed to rub each other up the wrong way. Arion was fourteen and, like the elves, he was maturing quickly and looked, both in face and form, like a human youth in his late teens. He was already taller than Thorin and was very strongly built like his father. Tauriel smiled to herself when she thought how strikingly handsome her son was. It would be lovely to have him up at the outpost in a few years and he and Warg would make a powerful addition to her troop of men.

But his grumpy, dwarven side seemed to be growing along with his size. He no longer had the same patience with Poppy who was a very pretty, sulky child of ten. She was also maturing quickly, in size if not in temperament. They were both lonely without Rose and yet they were irritated by each other’s company and kept out of each other’s way. Tauriel tried to get her interested in the cooking but it bored her and Thorin tried to show her how to make jewellery but being creative was not in her nature. She spent most of her day playing with her dolls and combing her ringlets in front of a mirror. Her only other pleasure was in grooming Warg or the horses, Magpie and Rosie Girl (named after you-know-who), which the shape-shifter had sent from his home on the fringes of Mirkwood to replace Blue and Little Beorn some time ago. 

Arion seemed to idle away a lot of his time. Thorin tried to spend a few hours every day with him doing weapons training and he was coming along well there; and Tauriel worked on improving his archery skills and he was pretty good there too. But, if he wasn’t being directed by one or other of his parents, he just seemed to mess around down by the river.

One day, Roger stopped by on his way home to invite Arion to a party in the Grey Havens that evening. It was the most exciting thing to happen in a long time and, after Roger had gone on his way, Arion, without asking permission from either of his parents, dropped everything and began to pack for the night.

“And where do you think you’re going?” snapped Thorin, seeing him lead Magpie out of the stables.

“To a party in the Grey Havens,” said Arion curtly. “Roger invited me.”

Thorin glowered. “I think not,” he said. “You’re not old enough and you haven’t finished those chores for your mother.”

Arion glowered back and they stood nose to nose. “You’re a hopeless father,” Arion shouted. “You’re no fun and you won’t let me make my own fun either! I bet Rose was glad to get out of here!”

Thorin was startled but he wasn’t giving any ground. “Put that horse back in its stable,” he growled, “and get back into the house.”

“No,” retaliated Arion. “I’m going to the Grey Havens and you shan’t stop me!” With that, he made as if to mount his horse.

Thorin lost his temper and, grabbing him by his collar, pulled him out of the stirrup. Arion lost his balance and fell to the ground. “You’ll do as I say, young man!” shouted Thorin but Arion scrambled to his feet and raised his fists. “Are you threatening me, boy?” snarled the dwarf.

“You’re nothing but a big bully, father!” yelled Arion. “And you can’t make me do what I don’t want to do. I’m going to that party!” And he turned back to the horse once more.

“Don’t you dare defy me!” shouted Thorin in his turn and, when Arion ignored him, he seized him by the shoulder again.

“Get your hands off me!” hissed Arion, red with fury, but when his father only gripped him harder, he spun around and hit him with all his strength.

Thorin fell to the ground, stunned not only by the powerful blow but by the fact that his son had hit him. Within moments, Arion had mounted his horse and was gone.

Poppy had heard the shouting and came running to the door. When she saw Thorin lying in a daze on the ground with blood running down his face, she yelled for her mother and then ran forward to Thorin’s side. She sat in the dirt in her pretty dress and, lifting Thorin’s head onto her lap, drew out an embroidered handkerchief and tried to mop his injuries. Tauriel came then and, between them, they helped him to his feet and into the house and onto his bed. Poppy went to get a bowl of water while Tauriel held Thorin’s hand. “He hit me,” said Thorin in amazement. “Arion hit me.........And he called me a bully.”

Poppy hovered anxiously while Tauriel bathed Thorin’s face. “The trouble is, you’re both too much like each other,” she said soothingly. “He just lost his temper because you crossed him – and you lost your temper because he defied you.” She stroked his long locks back from his bruised face. “Give him a day or so. Let him go to his party. And then he’ll regret what he’s done and come home and apologise.”

But, three days later, there was still no sign of Arion. And that was why Tauriel was lying awake in bed and wondering how it had all started. Thorin had been very restless too every night and she was relieved that he had gone to sleep at last. Sons and fathers; fathers and sons, she pondered. This was just a phase, she was sure, and had been provoked by Rose’s absence. Hopefully, it wouldn’t last. But they would have to decide what to do about Arion in the morning.

And when the morning came, Thorin had already made his decision. “I’m going after him,” he said. “I’ll go to Roger’s house and I’ll bring him home.”

“No more fighting,” pleaded Tauriel.

“There won’t be,” promised Thorin. “I’ll talk to him sensibly and I’ll even be the first to apologise – a bit – sort of.” She knew he would find that hard and so she hugged him and kissed him firmly.

Poppy came to wave him off. She had been very quiet these last few days and she stood on the doorstep looking concerned. “And if he won’t come home, just try to twist his arm by saying that I’m not prepared to look after Warg any more – that I’ll let him starve. That should do the trick.”

Tauriel put an arm around her: “Don’t worry, Poppy. He’s only having a bit of a sulk. Your father will bring him back tomorrow.”

.o00o. 

Pt III 

But when Thorin got to Barnaby Waller’s fine mansion, neither Roger nor Arion were there. “They’ve gone out with their friends for the day,” said Barnaby, offering Thorin some refreshments.

“Your son’s fist packs a wallop,” he said, looking at the dwarf’s still badly bruised face. “Takes after his father.” And he patted Thorin on the back in an encouraging way.

Thorin gave him a wry look. “So, he’s told you about it?” he asked.

“Well, he’s told me his side of things,” Barnaby shrugged. “But I know what these lads are like.”

“I wish I knew,” sighed Thorin, “but this is the first time I’ve ever had any trouble with him. Things have changed since Rose left.”

“I would have thought that things would have changed for the better,” grinned the merchant. “She seemed to cause so much trouble.”

“No,” said Thorin, bristling in his daughter’s defence. “You only know about the couple of occasions when she caused trouble in the town. But Lostwithiel once called her a jewel and he was absolutely right. She brought harmony to the family and, now that she’s gone, we’re all pretty crabby. Arion was very dependent on her and, once she met Telbarad, he became quite jealous. Me too. Neither of us wanted to lose her and we were spoiling for a fight.” He rubbed his bruised face: “Except I didn’t realise it and this came out of the blue.”

The merchant took a swig from his glass of wine and looked troubled. “Look, Thorin, I know we fathers ought to stick together, but he doesn’t want to see you so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Thorin was taken aback. “So, you’re saying you won’t help?”

Barnaby sighed: “This is my way of helping,” he said. “My son’s older so I’ve been through all this. If I try to engineer a meeting between the two of you, the way he’s feeling at the moment, it just won’t work. He’ll refuse to stay here any longer and he’ll storm out. Who knows what back-street bordello he’ll finish up in? At least we all know he’s safe if he stays here.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll talk to him, of course, say you came. Just give him a few more days and he might decide to come home of his own accord when he knows how concerned you are.”

Barnaby looked as though he doubted his own words. Arion was feeling very grown up at the moment; he was having a good time gallivanting around the Grey Havens with Roger and his gang of friends and Barnaby knew that the delights of the town were having a strong pull on him. All the more reason, then, for Arion to nurture his anger with his father because, if the lad forgave Thorin or accepted an apology, he would feel obliged to return to the bosom of his family.

But, Thorin acknowledged the good sense of the merchant’s words and, with a feeling of defeat, went home.

Tauriel and Poppy came running to the door when they heard the sound of Thorin’s horse in the yard, but their faces fell when they saw that he was alone. “He won’t see me,” he said, and he related the conversation that he had had with Barnaby Waller.

“Perhaps he’s right,” Tauriel comforted him. “Let’s just wait a few days before we get worried, and see what happens.”

Poppy hugged Thorin tightly. She had never seen her father look so upset and, since Arion’s departure, now that she was the only child in the home, she suddenly felt a strange weight of responsibility. She was so angry with the pain her brother was causing Thorin that she felt like throttling him. And she hugged the dwarf even more tightly. “It’ll be all right in the end, father,” she said gently. And Tauriel was amazed to see this kindly show of concern. Perhaps she’s growing up at last, the elf thought.

But, after a week, there was still no sign of Arion. “Well, what do we do now?” asked Thorin, running his fingers through his dark hair which, to Tauriel’s eyes, seemed to be greying by the minute.

“I think I should try next,” said the elf quietly.

“And perhaps I should come too,” added Poppy. “He might want to see me if he’s keen to find out about Warg.”

They all agreed that this seemed like the only sensible plan and, the next day, all three of them set off for the Grey Havens.

.o00o. 

Whilst they waited in the reception room for Barnaby Waller, Poppy looked around her in wonder. This level of affluence and wealth was new to her and she was open-mouthed at the beauty and elegance of the room. She walked around, imagining herself living there. Yes, she breathed to herself, this is the sort of place where I belong. She could see herself in fine clothing, greeting rich guests and impressing them with her loveliness. Suddenly, living with Lostwithiel up at the outpost no longer seemed like such an attractive proposition. Lostwithiel was desperately handsome and she loved him very much – but Roger wasn’t half-bad either.

She had met his father only once, at Rose’s wedding. Now, when he entered the room, she appraised him more closely. He seemed like a genial, pleasant sort with a sharp head on his shoulders. Poppy was pretty sharp too – with her elven blood, she was ten years old going on sixteen – and she studied him from under her lashes. Hmm, he was the sort of man she could doubtless wrap around her little finger. She decided she could live a very comfortable life in this house with Roger and his father. Barnaby had not quite got that far in his thoughts, but he did think that Poppy was a very pretty and well-mannered young lady who, unlike Rose, did her parents proud.

“He won’t see you, Tauriel,” said the merchant. “I think he’s more frightened of his mother than his father,” he grimaced. “But he will see you, Poppy. I think he wants to know all about Warg.”

“I thought he would,” said Poppy smugly. And she followed him out of the room to an upstairs salon.

Barnaby pointed out the door and then left her to it. When Poppy entered the room, she found Arion waiting for her. She blinked. It was under two weeks but her brother seemed different somehow – older even. His hair was restyled and no longer fell in a shaggy mass like their father’s and he was wearing some of Roger’s expensive and elegant clothes. He looks sort of – sort of – louche, she thought. That was a good new word she had learned recently but it perfectly described his appearance as he leaned nonchalantly against the fireplace.

“Arion?” she said, almost as if she expected him to deny it. 

“Of course it is,” he snapped. “Who else?”

“Well, you look so different,” she said.

“It’s called town bronze,” he replied airily, but he looked quite pleased.

Then Poppy felt quite irritated by his silly airs. “So, when are you going to come home, then, you idiot?” she said sharply.

“I’m not,” he replied. “I shall stay here until I’m ready to join the troop up at the outpost.”

She snorted. “If they’ll have you, that is. Do you think mother - or even Lostwithiel - will agree after all the upset you’re causing?”

He looked stubborn. The spitting image of father, she thought. “Well, someone will want me, even if the outpost doesn’t, especially if I have Warg in tow.”

“So, I just might let Warg starve, then,” she retorted. “I’m fed up with looking after him for your benefit.”

“Don’t you dare, Poppy,” he threatened angrily, balling his fists, and he began to look more like a badly behaved teenager than an elegant young man.

“On the other hand,” she said, tossing her golden curls, “after a year, I’m sure he will treat ME like pack leader and I shall tell him to bite your head off!”

For a moment, Arion was at a loss and then he snarled: “I don’t care, see if I don’t. You can keep Warg and I shall keep my freedom. I’m just so fed up with father telling me what to do and what not to do that anything’s worth it so that I don’t have to live under his roof any more!”

Poppy stared at him wide-eyed. “What is wrong with you, you fool? He’s been a good father to us and now he’s really upset, particularly as you won’t see him.”

Arion felt his power. “He’s upset, is he?” he asked with a certain amount of pleasure. “Well, serve him right for being so horrible to me.” And he turned away from her and walked to the window. “You can get out now,” he said when she didn’t move. “I’ve said everything I want to say.” And when she had run from the room, he went to the heavy door and turned the key. He knew his father. 

And, indeed, a few minutes later, Thorin was up the stairs and was banging on the door. “Let me in, Arion!” he yelled. “Or I’ll break down this door and drag you home!” And, for a moment, Arion thought he really would and he backed away looking around him for an escape route. But, both Tauriel and Barnaby came running up behind Thorin and convinced him that this was not the way forward.

“Let’s go home,” said Tauriel, “and think about what to do next.”

.o00o. 

Yes, what to do next? They seemed to have run out of options. They could carry on waiting, of course, and, in the end, Arion might see sense. But, there again, he might not and then they might lose their son forever. They could send Lostwithiel to the mansion and Lostwithiel could tell him that there was no longer a position for him up at the outpost unless he behaved himself, but Arion responded badly to threats. And Tauriel remembered that time, all those years ago, when Bard and Thranduil had threatened Thorin before the Gate at the Lonely Mountain and he was prepared to respond with violence and the sacrifice of many lives. She looked at Thorin and thought that he remembered too.

“If only Rose were here,” sighed Tauriel to herself. “She knew how to handle him.”

“Well, there’s only one thing for it, then,” said Thorin. “I’ll have to go North and fetch Rose home.”

Tauriel gaped. “But you can’t go running after Rose every time there’s a spat in the family,” she said.

“It’s not a spat,” said Thorin. “This is really serious. It’s Arion’s future that lies in the balance here and I’m really afraid that, if we don’t do something, he may finish up in an awful lot of trouble.”

“I think father’s right,” said Poppy. “You should have seen him. All dressed up and with his hair all styled – just the sort of idiot that has such a confident opinion of himself that he ends up mixing with the wrong crowd.”

Tauriel looked at her daughter again. Where had this grown-up little girl suddenly sprung from? But, under pressure from both of them, she finally agreed that Thorin should seek out their daughter and Telbarad in the camps on the Northern border.

.o00o. 

Pt IV

Thorin had been riding North for days. This was new territory for him and he wasn’t too sure about where he was going. He just knew that Rose was up here somewhere. The terrain was rugged and both he and his horse were feeling very tired. And so, he was quite glad one night, after he had camped, that although he couldn’t find the Rangers, the Rangers found him.

He was stirring his food over a fire when, suddenly, he was surrounded by bowmen, their arrows nocked. “Don’t move a muscle, dwarf,” their leader said. He recognised their grey cloaks and their silver clasps straight away.

He sighed: “My name is Thorin Oakenshield, the father of Rose, who is married to the Ranger, Telbarad,” he said.

They immediately lowered their bows and strode forward to greet him. “Rose’s father,” they laughed. “Now, there’s a woman and a half!” And Thorin felt very pleased that his daughter had obviously made such an impression on them.

They sat down around his fire and shared their supplies and a flask of wine with him. Their stories about Rose demonstrated that she had fitted in extremely well in her new surroundings and that she was a very popular member of the team.

“Where can I find her?” asked Thorin.

“She’s at our base camp,” answered the leader, “but, if you’re looking for Telbarad as well, then you’re out of luck. He’s off on a patrol and will be gone for several weeks.”

Good, thought Thorin. At least there will be no argument with her husband about a quick trip back to Ered Luin. Two of the Rangers were bound for their base camp and they accompanied Thorin there the next morning. It was lucky they had found him, he thought again, because he would never have found the place. There was a cleft in the rocks, covered by bushes, which was, in fact, a secret path that opened up into a wide clearing. As an extra security measure, there was a wooden palisade and, within this stockade, were the tents of the Rangers. Thorin was appalled at the harsh living conditions – and this was Base Camp. He wondered what the other camps were like if this was the best that they could offer.

The Rangers saw his look and they laughed. “Yes, this is luxury,” they said, “but you soon get used to it. And we don’t live here all the time, remember. Sometimes, when we’re on patrol, we get to rent a room at the Mountain Eagle Inn or the Prancing Pony at Bree or even the Mithril Crown in the fleshpots of the Grey Havens.” And Thorin thought that perhaps he had grown soft at his forge.

“Thorin!” a well-loved and hugely missed voice suddenly shouted. And he turned. And there was Rose. Her hair was pulled back untidily with a scruffy ribbon but she looked fit and healthy and tanned. She ran towards him and flung her arms around him and he hugged her back. But, suddenly, she backed away and, holding him at arms’ length, said in a frightened voice: “Why are you here? What’s the matter? Tauriel? The children?” and she scanned his face.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “Everyone’s fine. But we need your help.” And she took him to a bench and he told her what had happened with Arion. She saw the distress in his face and she put her arm around his shoulders.

“That naughty boy,” she said. “Don’t you worry, now, Thorin. I’ll sort him out. We’ll leave tomorrow.” And so they did.

The journey back to the forge was a long but happy one for Thorin. Being once again in Rose’s company was such a pleasure. And she seemed to lift all the weight from off his shoulders. He was the head of the family and they always turned to him to sort things out. And he acknowledged that responsibility. But sometimes – just sometimes – it felt wonderful when someone else stepped forward to take that load. He was more than happy to fight off orcs or pirates or feisty elves, for that matter, but when it came to sorting out relationships, he often made a mess of things. So, here was Rose to help him over this particular hump with Arion, thank goodness.

He seemed to laugh all the way home as she told him of her adventures and her new life. It suited her, he could see that, and when she talked about Telbarad and he saw the love shining in her face, it made him feel selfish that he had wanted to keep her from the Ranger, safe at the forge. He sighed inwardly. That’s how he had felt about Tauriel – his precious possession that he had wanted to keep from the rest of the world. But he was learning.

When they finally reached the forge, Poppy and Tauriel rushed out to meet them and many tears of joy were shed. Thorin had been gone for three weeks and, in all that time, there had been no word from Arion. Rose felt very angry on their behalf. 

 

The next day, Rose and Thorin rode into the Grey Havens but Arion and Roger were off gadding about again with their friends. “I’m not expecting them back until late tonight,” said Barnaby. I think they’ll be eating out with everyone at the Mithril Crown or one of the other inns.”

Thorin tried offering the merchant money for supporting his son all this time but Barnaby waved him away. “We gave him a bed and a few old clothes of Roger’s when he first arrived, we stable his horse and he eats the odd meal with us but, as far as I can make out, he pays for himself when he’s out with the other lads and he’s bought himself a whole new wardrobe.” 

Thorin looked worried. And, as he walked away from the mansion, he said to Rose: “Well, I haven’t the faintest idea where all this money is coming from. He’s got no money of his own and he took nothing with him when he left that day.” And Rose agreed that this was something to cause concern.

They spent what remained of the afternoon sitting in the sun down on the quay and then they ate at the Mithril Crown. But there was no sign of Arion or Roger and his friends. “Well,” sighed Thorin, “I think we’d better go looking for him.” There were not an insubstantial number of inns in the town and so they decided to split up. Before they each went their separate ways, Thorin divided the contents of his purse between them. “I’m really worried about all this money he’s spending,” he explained. “He must have borrowed from his rich friends, so we’ll need to pay them back when we find them.”

It was Rose who was the first to find Roger and his friends at the Three Trolls, a very seedy dive at the wrong end of town. The young man was startled and then pleased and then worried when he saw Rose approaching him across the crowded and dingy room.

“Rose!” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?” But he half-guessed and looked vaguely uncomfortable. There was a grim expression on his former love’s face. She was dressed in her Ranger’s outfit and, with her untidy hair and tanned skin, she did not appear to him as beautiful as she had once been. A little feeling of relief settled around his heart. His father had always said that she wasn’t a suitable woman to go marrying into the Waller family and, tonight, he could almost see what he meant. She certainly didn’t fit the image of the glamorous hostess that they both had in mind.

Rose was greeted cheerfully by the little band of young men she had associated with as a child but she sat down and said sternly: “Right! Where is he?” Uneasy glances were passed around the table and there was silence. “What are you all playing at?” she snapped. “He’s a young boy, in your care. Are you saying that you don’t know where he is?” Again, eyes darted away from her and there was much shifting on the bench.

“Roger!” she said angrily. “If you don’t tell me this minute, I’ll have you in so much hot water.” And she looked around the room. “Does your father know you frequent this place?” Roger paled at the mention of his father and cleared his throat.

“Arion’s off borrowing money from someone.”

“Ah, yes,” said Rose, taking out her purse. “How much does he owe all of you?”

They looked startled. “Oh, he hasn’t borrowed from us,” one of them said. “Our fathers keep a tight hold on their purse-strings, y’know. We would if we could, so to speak, but we can’t.”

Suddenly, all became clear to Rose. “A money-lender!” she said in disgust. “You’ve let him go to a money-lender!” And they all shuffled their feet and looked ashamed. The back alleys and stews of the Grey Havens were not a complete unknown to Rose and she was angry rather than faint-hearted when she heard the news. “All right,” she said, rising to her feet with a determined look they all recognised from long ago, “which one?”

“W-which one?” stuttered Roger.

“Yes, which money-lender?” she urged.

“B-but you don’t intend to go there on your own, do you?” squeaked Roger.

“Well, I don’t intend to take any of you with me,” retorted Rose scornfully. “You’d be less help than hindrance. Now, which one?”

“T-tom Blakey in P-pennysworth Lane,” he managed to get out.

“Yes, I know him,” she said. And, scooping up her purse, she swept from the room.

.o00o. 

No-one tried to stop the tall, confident Ranger who strode through the filthy slums and narrow alleys of the town. She was obviously someone who knew her way around and, after one look, the dark forms slinking in the shadows went off to find easier pickings. And, with no hesitation, Rose made her way to Pennysworth Lane, long a haunt of those who loaned money at extortionate rates to foolish young men.

Two large thugs guarded the door of the tumbledown property where she knew that the money lender did his business. “I’ve come to see Tom Blakey,” she announced.

“He’s wiv a client,” one of the men replied.

“I know,” said Rose calmly. “And I’ve come to pay the young man’s debt.”

Foolishly, seeing that she was a woman and hearing also the chink of coins, the thugs let her in, gesturing to a door at the end of the corridor. Rose knocked sharply once and entered. Arion was sitting opposite Blakey across a table. Both were startled by her sudden entrance and jumped to their feet. “Rose!” exclaimed Arion as if he could hardly believe his eyes.

Rose ignored him and, instead, confronted Blakey. “Yes, it’s Rose,” she said calmly. “Do you remember me, Tom?” And, of course he remembered her, even after all these years. He had been one of her father’s cronies and Rose was a very memorable person. So many vile creatures from her past, she thought. How much longer would they come back to haunt her?

Blakey sank slowly down into his seat and gave her a slimy smile. “Why, Rose,” he said. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He was an overweight, middle-aged man with sparse, dirty-blond hair smarmed down in a greasy comb-over. His watery blue eyes narrowed.

“I’ve come to pay his bill, Tom,” she said, hooking a finger at Arion. “Unfortunately, he’s a relative of mine. So how much has he borrowed from you?”

Blakey named a large sum but Rose was relieved that it was within her means and flung the money down on the table. Blakey swept the gold coins quickly away into a drawer and locked it. “And, of course,” he said, “he now owes me interest.” And he named another huge sum.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” said Rose politely, “I don’t think so.” And she put her purse away and took Arion, who was standing there with a dazed expression on his face, by the elbow.

As she made for the door, Blakey said in a threatening voice: “You’ll not get past my men.”

“I think I shall,” said Rose. “And, if they give me any trouble, then I shall go straight to the elven guards and tell them how you’ve been lending money to an underage fourteen year old.”

“Fourteen!” Blakey spluttered. And Rose wasn’t surprised that he had been caught out because Arion looked a lot older than that. Then she marched the boy to the door and Blakey came with her. He nodded to his thugs and they let them through. But as they walked off down the alley, the money-lender hissed to his men: “Get rid of them and dump them in the river!” His men gestured across the street to two more burly thugs lurking in the shadows and the four of them prowled after the receding figures.

Meanwhile, Arion was glowering at Rose. “I didn’t need your help,” he said.

“Well, from where I was standing, it looked like you did.”

“I was sorting it,” he muttered. 

“Got a sack of gold in your pocket, then?” she laughed. And, suddenly, it was the old Rose and he had to laugh too.

She put an arm around his shoulder and he felt safe. “You must have been scared,” she said. And he nodded. “I reckon there’s a bit of rewinding for you to do in your life, don’t you think?” she said gently. “And I’m here to help you do it.”

He stopped and put his arms around her and hugged her hard. “I’m in such a mess, Rose,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you’ve come.” But as they stood there, she caught a movement in the shadows.

“We’re being followed,” she murmured. “Are you armed?” And he shook his head.

“Keep walking,” she said. “And be on the alert.”

Two of the men behind them slipped off down a side alley and suddenly appeared in front of them. The two behind closed in and she drew her sword. Rose did not feel confident. Arion only had his fists and both he and Rose were only half-trained in warcraft. She was very pleased with her own progress and she knew a lot of below the belt skills that she had picked up long ago but she doubted if this was enough to defeat the brute force and ignorance of the four that surrounded them.

Their attackers closed in on them, grinning. But, suddenly, out of the shadows, a soft, deep voice said: “Are you threatening my children, by any chance?” And their hearts lifted.

The thugs spun around, trying to trace where the voice was coming from. Mistake, thought Rose and she ran through the man who was nearest to her. Arion leaped forward and hit another of them with the same powerful blow that had felled Thorin. Their father ran through a third and the fourth made his escape. Rose bent and seized the dazed man by his shirt collar and shook him until he began to come to. “Tell your master,” she said in a fierce whisper, “That if he or any of his men dare to come near the Oakenshield family again, it is they who will finish up in the river.” And then she let him go.

“Bad idea, Rose,” said Thorin. “Remember those squatters that we set free?”

“But, this time,” said Rose, “I think that Blakey needed a message.”

And then they went off to the Silver Bear where Telbarad had taken them on the night of the brawl at the Mistral Crown. There they sat down and, after Thorin had bought them all a much-needed drink, they were ready to talk.

“I’m sorry, Arion,” said Thorin. “That day you rode off, I handled things very badly.”

Arion blinked at his father’s admission. “No,” he said. “It was my fault and, ever since then, I have behaved very, very badly because I just didn’t know how to go back to the beginning and start again.”

“And,” laughed Rose,” digging him in the ribs, “you didn’t want all your fun to come to an end too soon, did you? Go on, admit it.”

Arion grinned down at the table. “Yes, I admit it. But that didn’t make my behaviour any the less awful.” And he looked up at Thorin. “Will you forgive me, father?”

“Of course I do, Arion,” said Thorin and wrapped him in a great bear hug.

.o00o. 

When they finally got back to the forge, there were no recriminations, just lots of hugs and kisses. And then, much to everyone’s excitement, Thorin decided that they would all accompany Rose on her journey back North so that everyone could see where their favourite person was now living.

Thorin and Tauriel lay in bed that night and they both heaved a huge sigh of relief. “I shall be glad when they’ve all grown up and are off our hands,” said Thorin.

“You’ll miss them when they’ve gone,” said Tauriel.

“But then,” murmured Thorin in his husky voice, “I shall have you all to myself again for the first time since Arion was born.” And he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.

Tauriel was relieved. This was the first time he had touched her in weeks. All that worrying about Arion had completely drained him of desire. She ran her hands down his body and wriggled more closely into his arms. “It’s been a long time, Thorin,” she whispered.

“Too long,” he said. “I’m sorry, Tauriel.”

“Goodness, Thorin,” grinned the elf. “All this apologising! What has got into you?”

“A very, VERY strong desire to make love to my wife,” he said. 

“Then perhaps you should apologise more often,” she suggested softly.

And he agreed that this sounded like a plan and turned off the lamp.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Runaway. First Thorin’s son gives him a hard time; in the next story, Poppy gives him a hard time too. What dangers will this young girl face in the big city when she decides to run away? And can Thorin save her before she does anything silly?


	21. Thorin and the Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arion, Thorin’s son, caused trouble last week. I think it’s about time for Poppy, Thorin’s daughter, to run rings around him. What kind of a mess will she get herself into and will Thorin be able to get her out of it?

Thorin and the Runaway  
Pt I

Poppy was bored. She had sat in front of her mirror all morning, styling and restyling her hair. She had worn it up; she had worn it down; she had worn it halfway up and halfway down; with ribbons and without; with flowers on the side and with flowers on the top. She had run out of options and now she was bored. What was a 13 year old girl expected to do in a forge, at a crossroads, in the middle of nowhere?

Her lovely sister, Rose, was buried in an even more desolate place, a camp on the Northern borders. Poppy knew how awful it was up there because the whole family had visited her. But, at least it was Rose’s choice. Poppy did not choose to be here, but there was no alternative.

To make things worse, her mother had gone off on a little holiday to visit Bilbo. Poppy had asked to go with her – anything to relieve the tedium – but her father had said that her mother deserved a bit of a rest away from them all with her dear friend, the hobbit. So, Dis had come to help look after them and, although she was very fond of her aunt, Dis could be a bit sharp with her and didn’t respond to Poppy’s expert wheedling. “Now, don’t you think, missy, that you can wrap me around your little finger like you can your father,” she would say. “After raising two naughty boys, I’m up to all the tricks.”

And her relationship with her brother, Arion, went up and down. He was seventeen and would soon be joining her mother’s troop at the outpost. He spent a lot of time day-dreaming about his coming role, guarding this area of Middle-earth, and he had very little time for her. On top of that, her father was always out in his forge, making stuff for money he didn’t need. She wouldn’t mind if he was prepared to spend his money on her, but he seemed to be reluctant to spend it on anyone and she had to really pull out all her cajoling stops when she wanted a new dress. 

Poppy fiddled with her hair a little longer and then wandered out of her bedroom to see what everyone else was up to. Dis was in the kitchen looking very hot and flustered. She was making lunch but she was also trying to finish off a rather beautiful and elaborate cake for tea. It was her way of showing her love for her brother and his family. She had covered it with a smooth, soft icing and was now piping pretty flowers all around the edge. She stood up with a sigh, pleased with her efforts.

“Can I have a slice?” Poppy asked.

“No, you can’t,” came the short reply. “It’s for tea.”

Dis turned away to wash her tools and Poppy leaned over the table and, running her finger around the edge of the cake, scooped up a large dollop of the icing and several of the florets, completely destroying its pristine beauty.

Her aunt turned around just as the sticky mouthful disappeared and she didn’t hold back. “You selfish child!” she yelled. “Now you’ve ruined it and I took all morning finishing it off!”

Poppy shrugged sullenly. “It’s only food. It doesn’t matter whether it’s missing a bit of icing or not – it all tastes the same.”

Tears of frustration rolled down Dis’ face. “You’re so selfish, Poppy - and you always have been! You do exactly what you like when you like and you don’t care about anyone else. Now just get out of my kitchen!”

“It’s not your kitchen,” said Poppy rudely. “It’s more my kitchen than yours. You don’t live here and I don’t know why my father still invites you here. We’re all grown up now and we don’t need your help any more!”

Well, the reason why Thorin and Tauriel still asked for Dis’ help was because they were so grateful to her for all her selfless, sterling work with their children over the years. They knew that she had devoted herself to them after losing her own sons and that coming to the forge had brought some purpose to her life. And now Poppy was throwing all that devotion back in her face. Dis hurried out of the kitchen and sought refuge in her own room, brushing aside her tears as she went.

Poppy felt in a vile and destructive mood. She knew she had been horribly unkind to Dis but she didn’t care. Wondering who else she could have a go at, she wandered out to the stables. Arion was there tidying up after grooming Warg.

“You said that I could do that,” she complained.

“Well,” he retorted, “I waited hours for you and when you couldn’t be bothered, I did it myself.”

“So, he’s all ready to ride,” she said, perking up a little.

“Not by you,” he replied. “I haven’t got time to come with you and you’re not going on your own.” Then he marched out of the stables.

Poppy kicked a bale of hay and then went up to Warg and buried her face in his thick fur. She felt defiant and so she swung herself up on his back and urged him out into the yard. But, when she tried to ride him through the gate and into the lane, he dug his heels in and refused to move. He was a very intelligent animal.

She kicked him angrily in the ribs and yelled at him but he only growled in an undertone and stayed put. And that’s how Arion found them.

“Get down!” he spluttered. “How dare you kick Warg like that?” And he dragged her from the creature’s back. Warg gave a look that signified that he had done his duty and sloped back into his stable for a nice sleep.

“What did I do to deserve a sister like you?” Arion yelled over his shoulder as he headed for the house. “Give me Rose any day!”

Odious comparisons were always being made between her and Rose, Poppy thought angrily. She loved Rose but it made her feel inadequate every time someone asked her why she couldn’t be more like her sister.

As a last resort, she made her way into her father’s forge.

Thorin was feeling frustrated because he couldn’t get a fine sword he was making quite right. He was concentrating very hard. Poppy plonked herself down on a bench across from the anvil but Thorin, his brow furrowed, ignored her.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, father,” she said. “Do stop hammering for a moment. I can’t hear myself think.”

Thorin reluctantly stopped working on the sword. “What’s the matter?” he said, looking up at her.

“I’m bored,” she sighed.

Thorin felt irritated and went back to his hammering. He was tired because he always slept badly when Tauriel wasn’t in his bed. “So, what’s new?” he said curtly. He really had no time for Poppy today.

“I want to go riding, father,” she continued. “Arion won’t let me ride Warg and Rosie Girl has cast a shoe. I’ve been waiting all morning for you to fix her.”

“Well,” he said rather irritably, “you’ll just have to wait a bit longer. I’ve got this sword to finish.”

Poppy stood up and stamped her foot. “Why do I always come last in this family?” she complained.

“Because you’re the smallest and the youngest and life is very unfair,” her father retorted. Actually both he and Poppy knew that she was put first more often than not, but neither felt in the mood for pleasantries today.

She was about to stomp out when Arion stormed in.

“Did you know that she’s really upset Dis?” he said. “I found her crying in her room.” And no, Thorin did not know. And that was the last straw.

“Go to your room, Poppy,” he snapped, “and stay there. None of us want to see you for the rest of the day!” And so, with her nose held arrogantly in the air, Poppy flounced out of the forge.

She lay down on her bed for a bit whilst she thought about things. “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me; I think I’ll go and eat worms,” Rose used to laugh at them when anyone got into a sullen state. But Rose wasn’t there to chivvy her out of her bad humour. She could see no reason to stop here any longer. And so, she got up and changed into the scruffy gown she always wore to groom Warg and the ponies and tied her hair back with an old ribbon. After that, she packed some spare clothing and a small amount of money she had into a wicker basket. Then she snuck out to the kitchen and gathered together a bit of food and finally slipped out of the house and the yard and into the road. 

She was going to run away to the Grey Havens. Warg refused to cooperate and her pony needed a new shoe. So, she had decided to walk and hitch lifts. She would have a good head start because no-one would think to look for her until the evening. And, once she got to the Grey Havens, it would be easy to hide or get herself lost there. She only had the vaguest idea about where she would sleep or how she would eat but Rose had managed on her own for ages so she was confident that she could too.

And luck was with her. After only a quarter of a mile, a cart overtook her and she was invited to hop on board. It was empty and travelled along at a fair pace and Poppy was soon on her way to town.

.o00o.

Pt II

Evening came to the forge and Thorin, Dis and Arion had spent a nice, quiet day there. Perhaps, thought Thorin with an amused grimace, he should shut his daughter away a bit more often. But now, they were all beginning to feel a measure of guilt. Poppy had been as quiet as a mouse and, as they gathered for a meal together, Thorin wondered why she hadn’t made an appearance yet. Sulking, probably, he concluded.

Dis set out the table and placed her cake in the centre. I’ll give her an extra large slice, she thought, just to show her that she still loved her. And Arion decided to offer to take her for a ride on Warg the next day to cheer her up.

When the food was on the table, Thorin knocked on Poppy’s bedroom door. “You can come out now,” he said. But there was no response. He opened the door and the room was empty. “She’s not there,” he said to the others and everyone began to have a very bad feeling. Arion ran down to the river; Thorin searched the stables and outbuildings; Dis went back to her bedroom.

“Some of her clothes are missing,” she said. “I think she’s run away.”

Thorin panicked. He ran to the stables and began to saddle his horse, his mind racing. But Dis came after him and tried to calm him down. “Don’t dash off just anywhere, brother,” she said. “Let Dog and Warg at least sniff out her direction.” Arion already had the animals out in the road and it seemed that she was heading for the Grey Havens. But, after a very short time, her trail went cold. 

“She must have got a lift on a wagon,” said Thorin. Then they all returned to the forge, Dis packed some food and Thorin tried to force a little down his throat.

“Shall I ride to Hobbiton and fetch Tauriel?” asked Dis.

Thorin hesitated. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “This is something I need to sort out myself without worrying her. I might even catch up with Poppy on the road.”

“Are you sure?” asked Dis. “You’ll be in trouble when she finds out.”

But Thorin had made up his mind and, after a short time, galloped off on his horse. He reached the Grey Havens just as it got dark without overtaking her. What to do now? He went off down to the docks where ships were still unloading but there was no sign of her and no ships had put to sea that afternoon. So, she’s still in the town, he thought.

And, yes, Poppy was still in the town. When she had arrived that afternoon, feeling elated that she had done something so incredibly naughty, she stood in the market place wondering what next to do. Escaping from the forge had been easy and she hadn’t really thought beyond that. Now she stood there, looking like a country bumpkin in her shabby clothing, and she had no idea what her next action should be. There was a possibility that, if the girl hadn’t approached her, she would have spent her money on a room at a cheap inn and then she would have returned home the next day, satisfied with the thought that she had caused maximum mayhem.

But, the girl did approach her. “Hello,” she said. “You look a bit lost.”

She was a pretty girl, a few years older than Poppy, with short, curly hair, bright red in colour, and dressed in clean, well-pressed clothing. “Are you new in town?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Poppy. She liked the girl’s friendly smile and the way her curls bobbed up and down as she spoke.

“I’m Mary. Are you looking for a place to stay?” was the next question. “Because you could come home with me, if you wanted to.”

“Well,” hesitated Poppy, “I haven’t got much money.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said the girl. “I work in a lovely house for a really nice employer. He’s very kind and is always on the look-out to help silly young girls like you and me who come to town with nothing but big ideas. I put in a few hours for him every evening when he entertains and, in return, he gives me a pretty room, food and clothes. You can share my room, if you like, until you find your feet.”

Poppy felt a sense of relief that she had made a friend, and such a useful one too. “I’m Poppy,” she said, “and that’s a very kind offer. Although,” she added, “I might only stay one night.” The girl linked arms with her and they set off chattering down the road.

The house was old but very imposing, not perhaps in the smartest part of town, but a footman wearing a lot of gold braid opened the door and the interior was very elegantly decorated. There was a sweeping staircase but Mary took Poppy up to the top floor by way of the servants’ back stairs. As she had promised, however, her room was very pretty and was equipped with two attractive bedsteads.

Then Mary took her down again to the basement where she met the housekeeper, Mrs Bates, a motherly looking woman whom Poppy warmed to straight away. Mrs Bates sat her down and put some food in front of her and then found her a pretty cotton frock to put on. “Get changed and let Mary brush out that lovely hair of yours, my dear,” she said. “I’m sure Mr Jennings, the owner of this house, would like to meet you.”

And so, up the stairs they went again and Poppy put on the dress and Mary brushed out her hair. The girl was startled when she saw her slightly pointed ears. “Goodness! You’re not an elf?” she exclaimed.

Poppy felt embarrassed. Would they hold this against her? “Half-elven,” she muttered. “Does it matter?” And for the first time she felt uncomfortable about her heritage and made no mention of her dwarven side.

“Of course it doesn’t matter,” laughed Mary, pleased with her discovery. “It just makes you look all the cuter.” She tweaked Poppy’s ear and they both giggled together. Mary pinned back her hair behind one ear with a clip so that the tip was exposed. “There,” she said. “That makes you look more interesting.”

Mr Jennings was a handsome older man with an elegant mane of white hair. He spoke in a kindly fashion to Poppy and didn’t put her on the spot by asking her age or for details of her parentage or for an explanation as to what she was doing on her own in the Grey Havens.

“I do a lot of entertaining in the evenings,” he said, “and I like my servants to be pretty and well-trained. Mrs Bates can show you what to do and how to behave if you’d like to work for me.” Poppy nodded eagerly and couldn’t believe her luck that Mary had noticed her in the market place. She saw Mr Jennings looking at her ear and she blushed in a self-conscious way, but he didn’t pass comment. 

And so, Poppy spent her first night in Mr Jenning’s house. She shared the bedroom with Mary which was great fun and talked with her late into the night until she fell asleep.

.o00o.

Pt III

Thorin spent a restless night at the Silver Bear which was close to the market place and, the next day, he went from stallholder to stallholder asking them if they had seen Poppy. At last, a woman on a fruit stall thought she had noticed a young girl who answered his description. A farm cart had dropped her off and she had stood there looking lost.

“I was quite concerned for the poor little soul,” the woman said, “ and I was just going to go up to her when she was approached by another young girl. I thought she might be a friend or a relative, so I stopped worrying about her and went back to serving my customers.”

“And what did the other girl look like?” asked Thorin eagerly.

“Well, she’s very distinctive,” said the woman. “She shops here every afternoon and you can’t miss her. She’s got very bright, red hair – short curls – I’m sure you’ll see her if you keep a look out.”

And so, Thorin sat on the base of a statue in the centre of the market all afternoon and waited. In the end, his patience was rewarded because he saw Mary shop at various stalls before heading back the way she had come. Thorin felt uneasy and didn’t approach her. Instead, he followed her at a distance until he saw her enter quite a grand house.

He waited for five minutes and then walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. The footman who answered took one look at the imposingly arrogant and well-dressed figure in front of him and addressed him politely: “I’m sorry, Master dwarf,” he said. “The house does not open until ten this evening.”

“I shall return then,” murmured Thorin.

What had his daughter got herself into, he thought to himself? He wanted to break down the door and mount an heroic rescue but he guessed the house was well-guarded. Should he ask the elven soldiery to help him? But he as yet had no proof that his daughter was either here or in danger. And so, the only thing he could do was to come back at ten this evening and find out what was going on.

Meanwhile, in the basement of the house, Poppy was receiving instruction from Mrs Bates. The housekeeper was very pleased with Mary’s find. “You’re a pretty girl,” she said, “with a pretty manner and a pretty voice. Now all I need to do is show you how to wait at table and how to please Mr Jennings’ gentlemen friends.”

Poppy responded well to the flattery and tried hard to learn her lessons. 

Her father spent his afternoon shopping for some fine clothes and then went off to the town vaults to withdraw a goodly amount of gold and some expensive jewellery. He had a strong feeling that he would need to look affluent if he wanted to get past the doorman tonight. He returned soon after ten and his rich robes and heavy gold rings gave him entry.

However, a smartly dressed but powerful-looking footman with a broken nose said politely: “I’m sorry, sir, but I do ‘ave to check you for weapons before I allow you any further.” And, after a quick but effective frisk, the man found the dagger down the side of Thorin’s boot.

“Drat!” thought Thorin.

“A good place to hide a dagger,” smiled the man as he put it away with some other weapons in a locked hall cupboard.

“Just what my daughter says,” laughed Thorin amiably. And the man laughed back.

“You can retrieve it on your exit,” he said.

A blaze of light was coming from a room leading off the hall and Thorin wondered what he would find there. He scanned the spacious room and was not surprised to find many tables laid out for gambling – and the favoured games were those designed to part the punter most easily from his money: Sequence, Forty-two, Deep MIdden. He had never been to a gambling hell before, but Thorin was familiar with all the gaming rules. Dwarves were too canny to part easily with their gold but played these games amongst themselves, purely for entertainment.

He settled himself at a Deep Midden table and handed over some gold coins in exchange for which, the dealer, a handsome young man, passed him some ivory playing rings. The play continued in a quiet and desultory manner which gave Thorin plenty of time to look around the room. All of the dealers were young and good-looking and a few of them were women. The punters were all male, a variety of ages, obviously rich men. There were no elves and he was the only dwarf. He saw the odd customer give him a side-long look and, finally, his neighbour, a man in his fifties, said: “We don’t see many dwarves here.”

“No,” replied Thorin pleasantly. “I can imagine you wouldn’t. But Deep Midden is my only vice.”

“What a pity,” laughed the man. “This house caters for many vices here.”

Thorin wanted to ask what he meant but decided to remain silent and to keep alert.

The evening passed slowly for him: he won some, he lost some. But, suddenly, he saw the red-headed girl walk past the room out in the hallway. If it hadn’t been for her distinctive hair, he would not have recognised her because her plain cotton frock had now been replaced by a fine evening gown and jewels sparkled in her hair. She looked very attractive.

There was a break in play and Thorin murmured to the dealer: “Who is that red-headed girl I’ve just seen in the hall?”

The young man did not seem surprised by the question but said in Thorin’s ear: “You’re interested in her, sir?” And Thorin nodded. The dealer slipped away from the table and soon returned with Mrs Bates in tow.

She no longer looked like a housekeeper. Her clothes were elegant and her hair was beautifully styled. She looked very much the fine lady. She was acknowledged by smiles and salutes from the other men at the table and she graciously bent her head to them. Thorin’s neighbour said: “A busy evening, Bel?” And she assented with a polite nod.

But she approached Thorin and said quietly, “Would you like to follow me, sir?” And the dwarf, wondering what he had let himself in for, let her lead him from the room.

Earlier that evening, Mary had helped to get Poppy dressed. She was handed a very beautiful gown made of white silk and shot through with silver. It was very simply styled but somehow grown up and Poppy was filled with excitement.

“For me?” she exclaimed when Mary first held it up for her inspection.

“Mr Jennings likes us all to look nice,” she said. And, indeed, Mary was looking quite lovely too. 

“Can I put my hair up?” Poppy asked.

“No,” said Mary. “Mrs Bates thinks it looks beautiful brushed out on your shoulders. It makes you look – young.”

Poppy didn’t want to look young, but Mary wouldn’t let her do her hair any other way and also insisted that she pinned it back behind her ears with silver clips. “I just love your ears,” she said.

Then, when they were both ready, she lead her down to a small salon where Mrs Bates, in all her finery, was waiting.

“Mr Jennings is entertaining a small party of friends in the little dining room,” she said, “and I want you two girls to serve the food and drink.” Then she turned to Poppy. “You’re looking very nice, my dear,” she added and Poppy felt very pleased with herself. Then when the party called for wine, Mary suggested that Poppy served it, “just to get used to the idea”, and the girl, carrying a tray, nervously entered the room.

But there was nothing to worry about, she decided, because everyone was utterly charming and kind to her. Mr Jennings nodded and smiled at her and some of the men seated with him said some very flattering things to her, calling her a pretty child, admiring her hair and even saying that her ears were delightful. 

Poppy left the room feeling that this was a really easy and pleasant way to earn her keep and that she had had more fun here in only a day than she had experienced in months at the forge. A moment of guilt shot through her as she wondered if her family were worried about her; but then she decided that a bit of anxiety over her would do them good. Perhaps, when she eventually returned, they would be a lot nicer to her.

She would not have been so self-satisfied if she could have heard the conversation in the room after she had made her exit.

“Absolutely delicious,” said one of the guests.

“And only thirteen, you say?” added another.

“And those ears!” remarked a third. “She must be part elf. What a tease!”

“How much?” another asked bluntly.

And they all fell to, negotiating with Mr Jennings around the table.

.o00o.

Pt IV

Mrs Bates led Thorin up the sweeping staircase to a room at the back of the house. It was well-decorated, furnished with tables and chairs and a large four-poster bed in one corner, grandly hung with heavy silk draperies.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, gesturing to a decanter of wine. “Mary will join you in a moment.”

So Thorin sat down, feeling a little apprehensive. Just like the gambling den, this was also unknown territory for him but he knew he was getting closer to finding his daughter. He poured himself a glass of wine and, as he took his first sip, Mary slipped quietly into the room, shutting the door behind her. She was such a pretty girl, thought Thorin, and he was sickened by the trade that had brought her there and panicked by thoughts for the safety of his own daughter.

The light in the room was dim, lit as it was by a handful of candles. Mary was curious to see her new customer because she had never had a dwarf before. They were rare in such places as this and, as far as she could make out, they were a very chaste breed, apparently not usually tempted by the type of vices that beset the men of the town. She wondered what had brought him to this house and had felt a bit worried at first. But, Mrs Bates had reassured her. “I don’t think you need be anxious about anything – he’s very handsome,” she had said as they climbed the stairs. Nor did she ever have any concerns for her safety. All the footmen were security guards, real bruisers, recruited from the back streets of the town. There was one outside the door now and others stationed along the corridors, all ready to come should she let out the smallest scream. She could have finished up in a worse place.

She moved, smiling, across the room. Mrs Bates was right, she thought. He was a very handsome dwarf. And she sat herself upon his lap and stroked his beard. “I thought all dwarves were very pure,” she murmured and she gently brushed her lips against his own.

“Not all of us,” he replied in a deep baritone and he slid a hand around her waist.

She began to undo his shirt and, slipping a hand inside it, kissed him more forcefully. But Thorin gripped her wrist, stopping her exploring hand from going any further. “I need to ask,” he said. “Are you a virgin? You look so young that I imagined you were.”

Mary smiled coyly. “Well, I can play the virgin for you,” she purred, “if that’s what you want.”

But, Thorin stood up, putting her from him and said. “No, I’m sorry. That’s not good enough. I want the genuine article and I’m willing to pay whatever price this house demands.”

Mary felt vaguely disappointed but told Thorin to help himself to another drink whilst she consulted with Mrs Bates. “I think we can find something to suit you, sir,” she said.

Downstairs, she spoke with the housekeeper. “You know how rich these dwarves are,” she said. “I think he’ll pay a huge sum for someone like Poppy.” Mrs Bates went off to speak privately with Mr Jennings who was not very happy with the offers he had received so far from his guests. He named his price and she climbed the stairs once more to speak with Thorin. A deal was done immediately and Thorin handed over his gold. He hoped that he was paying for his daughter and not some other poor, lost soul and he sat down in the shadows in the far corner of the room.

He didn’t have long to wait. Soon, the footman opened the door and Poppy came into the room, carrying a large tray with a selection of decanters and glasses upon it. She was concentrating on not dropping it and carefully placed it on the table nearest the door. As she did so, the footman locked the door behind her. She heard the click and, startled, she reached for the handle only to find that it wouldn’t turn. Her mind raced, trying to work out why the door had been locked and, suddenly, she felt very afraid. Mrs Bates had asked her to serve a guest in this room and now she turned towards him. “What is the meaning of this?” she tried to ask bravely.

“It means,” said her father’s voice from the shadows, “that they have locked you in with me......So that you cannot escape,” he added.

A mixture of relief and anger washed over her. Her father had come to take her away from the most fun she had had in months and he had even persuaded the footmen to cooperate with him.

“What are you doing here, father?” she asked furiously. “And if you think I’m coming with you, then you’re wrong.”

“Well,” he said calmly, “I’m afraid you will have to come with me because I have just bought you …… for a very large sum of money.”

For a moment, she didn’t understand. She was just angry that he was interfering with her life again. But then her eyes widened as his meaning made itself plain. And, suddenly, all sorts of things began to click into place: the kindness of Mr Jennings, the comments of his friends, the pretty dress, the easy tasks. She wondered at her naivety and she raised her hand and pressed it against her lips in horror. Then she was running across the room and throwing herself into her father’s arms.

Thorin hugged her back. “Now, the only problem is how we’re going to get out of this place,” he said. There were guards everywhere; the door was locked and he had no weapon. He looked around the room. He had already tested the window and it was open but they were some way above a paved rear courtyard and the cobbles looked very unforgiving.

But the curtains were secured by beautiful rope tie-backs as were the drapes around the bed. All the drapes and curtains were made of silk – a strong material, he thought. So, with Poppy’s help, he tied ropes and curtains together until he thought it would all reach the ground. He climbed out first so that he could test its strength and Poppy came bravely after him whilst he stood below, ready to break her fall if necessary. The side gate to the house was locked, so he then helped his daughter over a wall into a neighbouring garden and, from there, they made their escape.

When they got to the Silver Bear, Poppy was too frightened to stay the night. She wanted to get out of the Grey Havens as quickly as possible, even though it was now into the early hours. But there was a good moon and Thorin thought it would be fine to ride home. And so, he paid his bill and saddled his horse and, swinging Poppy up in front of him, he rode out of town.

It was a good few miles before Poppy gave in to her terror. She began to shake and, burying her face in her father’s shoulder, she started to sob. “It’s all right,” he said gently. “You’re safe now. No need to cry.”

But Poppy wasn’t crying for herself. She was crying for Mary. “I wish you could have saved Mary too,” she wept.

Thorin stroked his daughter’s hair. “Well, we saved Rose,” he tried to console her. “And our family is doing its best to protect everyone in Ered Luin. But, we can’t save everyone.” And gradually, Poppy stopped crying and fell asleep.

They reached the forge as the dawn came. Thorin helped Poppy down from the horse just as Tauriel threw wide the door. “What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“Dis fetched me,” she said. And she wrapped them both in her arms. Dis came to the door then, looking very guilty.

“You naughty person,” Thorin said, smiling, and both he and Poppy hugged her tightly.

They all went to bed then for a few hours’ sleep. “Well,” said Thorin to Tauriel, “at least that’s taught her a lesson.”

“But I doubt if it’s a lasting one,” his wife replied. “She’s still very young. She can only feel guilty for so long and this will all be forgotten in six months or so. There will still be all those difficult teenage years to get her through.”

Thorin sighed. “I really hope you’re wrong,” he said. “Now I shan’t get to sleep for worrying about it.”

“Let me help you,” giggled Tauriel as she drew him into her arms.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. If you did, let me know!
> 
> Next story: Thorin and the Lady. Thorin and Poppy go partying on their own in the Grey Havens. Will they get into difficulties without Tauriel to keep her eye on them?


	22. Thorin and the Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arion is about to leave home. Will Poppy miss him? Can she still wrap Thorin around her little finger? And will Thorin get himself into a bit of a mess when he goes to a party in the Grey Havens without Tauriel? And, as a little bit of excitement, we meet a popular character from Lord of the Rings.

Thorin and the Lady

Pt I 

Arion’s eighteenth birthday had come and gone and his bags had been packed for a long time. The day had almost arrived for him to join the troop up at the outpost and he could hardly contain himself. Poppy had groomed and re-groomed Warg, all ready to go, and, although Arion was appreciative of her efforts, she was mainly doing it to keep from herself the realisation that her brother was finally disappearing from her life. The thought was surprisingly painful. They hadn’t always got along but, since his escapade in the Grey Havens four years earlier, they had both tried harder with a certain amount of success.

And she would miss Warg too. She spent a lot of her time in the stables with Warg, the horses and with Dog who was getting stiff and old. Dog had missed Rose when she had left for the North after her marriage to Telbarad. He had mooched around for days, picking at his food, until Arion and Poppy had fed him treats by hand and had slept with him and Warg in the stables at night for a few weeks. Almost like old times, Arion had grinned, when it had been difficult to get Dog out of their beds. She guessed his end must be coming but she turned away from the thought, taking him for gentle walks by the river and cuddling him on her lap in front of the fire when the winter came. But, no matter how cold it got, he always went out to the stables to sleep with Warg who had become his last and best friend. How difficult would Dog find things when both Arion and Warg moved away? She wondered if he understood anything of the preparations that were going on about him. He certainly seemed restless and uneasy.

The night before Arion’s departure, Thorin and Tauriel lay in each other’s arms discussing yet another milestone in their lives. They felt they could cope with Arion leaving more than when they had waved goodbye to Rose. Their adopted daughter was a long way away and they hardly saw her; but Tauriel and possibly Thorin would see Arion once a week. Tauriel was still the captain of the troop and spent a night there every seven days and Thorin was still weapons’ master and often went with her to give the elves regular training. Now that Poppy was fourteen, Dis would probably come less often to the forge to hold the fort as she had faithfully done for years and Poppy would also spend time up at the outpost with her parents instead of with her aunt. Thorin was keen for her to be skilled with sword and bow so she could practise with the elves and perhaps, he sighed, she would be tempted to join her brother at the outpost in a few years’ time. It was a responsible job and one which would hold the family together. But, she didn’t seem to be interested very much in anything yet.

“That daughter of ours frightens me,” he grinned.

“And why is that?” Tauriel smiled back.

“Because she’s only fourteen but she sometimes behaves as if she’s older than me,” he answered.

And, undoubtedly, this was true. Her elven blood had given her a certain maturity, both in appearance and manner, and Thorin sometimes felt as if their roles were reversed as she organised him and ordered him around. He had three women in his life, he smiled to himself, and they all seemed to know how to handle him. Poppy’s manipulation of him sometimes left him feeling a little uneasy, originating as it did from their spoiling of her as a child; but, he grinned, he certainly didn’t object to being handled by Tauriel. And he felt like being handled by her now so he rolled towards her and kissed her, just to give her a bit of encouragement. Tauriel didn’t need much encouragement and she caressed him and wound him in her slender arms.

“How many years has it been?” he asked.

“Nearly nineteen,” she said. “And you’re still a fine figure of a dwarf,” she giggled, nestling into him. 

And Thorin didn’t need much encouragement either.

.o00o.

 

They set out for the farmhouse high in the hills the next day. Thorin and Poppy rode their horses, Arion was on Warg, Tauriel drove the trap with Dog on a soft blanket and all Arion’s gear in the rear, while Magpie, who would also be stabled at the outpost, came trotting along behind. 

When they arrived, Lostwithiel and all the elves who were not on duty turned out to give Arion a cheer. He knew them very well by now and was comfortable in their company but he blushed at the warmth of their welcome. There was a lot of manly back-slapping for Arion and Thorin, a bit of smart saluting for Tauriel and some elegant hand-kissing for Poppy. She had always liked this and had never felt embarrassed like Rose, receiving their kisses as graciously as they were given. Thorin noticed her graceful manner and shook his head at his daughter’s sophistication. “Well, she doesn’t get it from me,” he muttered to Tauriel.

Arion moved into one of the guest units next to the old stables. “I want to be close to Warg,” he said, “in case he causes trouble until he’s settled down.” Poppy slept in the unit next to his and Thorin squeezed himself onto Tauriel’s narrow bed. His wife’s back was pressed against the wall and Thorin was on the edge of the mattress.

“You’re not too squashed, are you?” he asked.

“Squash away,” she murmured. “You’re making me feel very desirable.”

“You’re always desirable,” he replied in his deep, dark voice. “I don’t need a narrow bed to persuade me that I want to be close to you.” And he pressed even closer.

.o00o.

The next day, Tauriel took over the troop whilst Lostwithiel planned to go down to the Grey Havens on a couple of days’ leave. This would give Arion the opportunity to practise seeing his mother as his captain which Tauriel was sure would be a difficult mental exercise for him.

Poppy tucked herself under Lostwithiel’s arm. “What will you do in the town, ‘Thiel,” she asked. The elf lord gave her a hug. Poppy knew he still saw her as a child even though she already looked very grown-up. But she guessed that the time would come when he would see her differently, just as he had eventually fallen for Rose. She was very, very fond of him and thought him very good-looking. But there was still Roger, of course. He could offer her so much more in the way of comfort and stylish living. She thought she was in love with Lostwithiel and only felt friendship for Roger but she was a pragmatic girl and knew there were things that Roger could give her that the elf couldn’t – or wouldn’t. If only Lostwithiel would return to the life of a courtier down in the Grey Havens then things would be different. She wanted to keep her options open until she knew how it would all play out.

“Roger’s father is holding a big party,” said Lostwithiel. “Six of his trading ships have all come home at the same time and he’s feeling pretty generous.”

Poppy looked excited and turned to her father. “Can’t we go too?” she asked. “Roger’s father has a soft spot for me and I’m sure he’d be pleased if we turned up. Mother doesn’t really want us here. She needs to establish a working relationship with Arion and I think we’re just in the way.”

Thorin smiled indulgently. “You’re probably right, Poppy. We’ll leave her to it for two days while we go and have fun in the town with Lostwithiel.”

“It’s best if we go straight there,” said Poppy, “rather than make a diversion to the forge to pick up some clothes. Let’s buy some new clothes in the Grey Havens instead,” she wheedled. “I really could do with a new party frock.”

“As if you go to so many parties, you’ve worn out the ones you’ve got,” Thorin grumbled. But he succumbed to her suggestion after a hug and a kiss.

Which is why, when he and Lostwithiel and Poppy turned up on Barnaby Waller’s doorstep along with the town’s finest, his daughter was looking very nice indeed.

“And you look very nice too, father,” she whispered in an attempt to make him feel that the gold he had parted with that afternoon had been money well spent.

Thorin looked at his daughter and felt he had to approve. She was dressed in a gown of the palest, palest blue with tiny flowers embroidered around the neck-line. For some reason, although her hair was gold and Rose’s hair was black, he was reminded of his adopted daughter. Perhaps it was because the curls fell halfway down her back; perhaps it was because she carried herself with such confidence and poise; or perhaps it was because whenever either of his daughters entered a room, they seemed to outshine every other girl there. And Poppy was only fourteen. What a head-turner she would be in a few years’ time, Thorin thought proudly.

Thorin himself looked very striking and handsome in a new grey outfit. He also turned heads as he walked by but, after his still-remembered experiences with the ladies of this town, Thorin was determined to sit quietly in a corner, drinking a cup of wine in the shadows where he could keep an eye on his daughter. “Are you going to sing for us tonight, Thorin?” asked Lostwithiel with a grin, having witnessed the effect that his singing had had on the assembled company all those years ago. Thorin raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him and the elf lord laughed and said, “Perhaps not.”

The important personages of the town stood around looking important. The young people danced and sang and played games. Some of the ladies recognised Thorin from that memorable evening when he had melted their hearts with his deliciously deep voice as he had played a harp and sung a dwarven song. Most of them had not seen him since and so they made their way eagerly towards him. But his manner was so cool that they soon gave up and looked around the room for more entertaining companions.

All except one. She was a shy, pretty lady, perhaps thirty or so, small and slight of figure. “I remember that night you sang to us,” she said. “I was only a young girl and I have never forgotten it.” And then she looked embarrassed and continued: “But I can imagine that you may feel this is an imposition, me just walking up to you and talking to you like this. But, I wanted to tell you how much pleasure you gave the whole room that night.” And she looked very uncomfortable and began to edge away. 

Thorin felt sorry for her then and called her back. “No,” he said. “I’m being very rude. I’m pleased to hear that you enjoyed my inexpert performance.” And he gestured to her to sit next to him.

She sat down with shining eyes and said in her soft, sweet voice: “Oh, no! You are too modest. Your singing and harp playing were more beautiful than anything that I have ever heard, even from the elves.”

Thorin laughed. “That’s what my wife says. But I always thought she was biased.”

“Ah, yes,” she replied with a gentle smile, “your wife, Tauriel. She is a really lovely woman. You must be very happy with her.”

Thorin’s face softened. “Yes, I am very happy and she is, indeed, very lovely. It is kind of you to say so.”

And so they chatted easily on. She introduced herself as Margaret, the daughter of a magistrate in the town. And Thorin told her all about his children and Tauriel’s work up at the outpost and about some of the more respectable moments of their journey to Mirkwood and back again before Poppy was born.

“Which one is Poppy?” she asked. And he pointed to her proudly. She was behaving herself and was dancing gracefully with a handsome young friend of Roger’s. “What an extraordinarily pretty child,” Margaret said. And Thorin began to think that this woman was a very pleasant companion.

.o00o.

Pt II

After her husband and daughter had left for the Grey Havens that morning, Tauriel began to get her men into order. No-one had been out on night patrol and they were all present for the day’s exercise. They lined up for inspection, including Arion in his new uniform, and she walked along the line. Arion couldn’t help but grin when he saw his mother marching down the line towards him, her face stern, but she stopped in front of him and said, “Wipe that smile off your face, soldier. This is a serious job we have to do up here.”

He had a sudden urge to say, “Oh, come on, mother. Stop pretending to be fierce.” But then he looked in her eyes and realised that she did rather frighten him a little and he bit his tongue. Tauriel felt a moment of relief when he straightened both his back and his face. She really hadn’t relished tearing him off a strip in front of the others and she could already see an amused glint in their eyes as they remembered their first totally unprepared day with her. But the morning of archery practice passed uneventfully and she was pleased to see that Arion acquitted himself well.

After a mid-day meal, Tauriel told them of her plan to help Warg integrate with both the men and their horses. “It’s no use,” she said, “having this potentially lethal weapon in our midst if the horses are too frightened to work with him.” And she guessed that, even though they were all familiar with Warg after Arion’s regular trips to the outpost over the years, some of the elves were still nervous in the creature’s presence.

She got them all to line up in a well-spaced row, holding their steeds firmly by their bridles. And then she told Arion to lead Warg up and down the row, weaving in and out between them. At first he kept a distance from each of them but, each time he passed by, he moved in closer and closer until Warg’s fur brushed both the horses and the elves. Dog trotted after Warg and his presence seemed to be a reassurance both to animals and men. 

At first, the horses were spooked. They flinched and tossed their heads and strained to break away. But the elves spoke soothingly to them and, when Warg remained passive and did nothing to alarm them, they slowly calmed down. Then Tauriel got her men to mount and they had to hold their animals steady as Warg passed by, closer and closer, this time with Arion on his back. Again, they were twitchy at first but, eventually, they stood there as if Warg were merely another horse.

Then Tauriel took them, six at a time, into the neighbouring field and told them to walk then trot then canter up and down in random patterns with Warg in their midst. After an hour or so of this, everyone had to admit that Warg’s integration seemed a success.

They paused for a short rest and then Tauriel said that she wanted to take some of them out into the neighbouring hills for a good gallop with Arion and his pet and, if this went off without incident, she would be happy to include Warg on their patrols. She chose Challis and Lithin and Borondin to accompany them and then they set off, expecting only to be gone for a few hours.

For the first hour, they galloped at speed through the attractive hilly area north of the farmhouse until at last they reached the brow of a hill and paused for a rest. Challis had noticed how, all the time, Arion seemed to be keeping Warg in check so that his pace would match their own. “How much faster can he go?” she asked.

“Perhaps we’d better have a trial,” said Tauriel, and she pointed to a clump of trees about two miles away on a neighbouring hill.

“A race!” grinned Arion.

“Yes,” smiled Tauriel. “We shall all set off together and see how big a gap opens up between us and Warg.”

It was really exciting and Arion felt elated as he pulled further and further ahead of the elves who, in the end, were a long way behind. But, as he approached the clump of trees, he suddenly dragged Warg to a skidding halt. For, out of the shadow, there loped two warg-riders, orcs mounted on their dark brown steeds. They came to a halt too and grinned evilly, eyeing Warg covetously because he was huge in comparison to their own.

For the first time, Arion became aware of just how large Warg was. All that good food when he was young, he thought. Then the arrogance of youth possessed him and, looking at the scrawny orcs and the comparative size of the creatures they rode upon, he drew his sword, confident in his victory over them and urged Warg into the attack. But the enemy wargs suddenly let out a strange, strangled cry and, to Arion’s horror, Warg refused to move. The smaller creatures continued to make guttural sounds which, to Arion’s ears sounded almost like human speech but not quite. Then, to his amazement, Warg responded and yowled back. He kicked his mount again and tried to urge him forward once more, but Warg suddenly reared and twisted his body so that Arion went tumbling off onto the ground.

The orcs laughed. “I’m surprised, little boy, that you thought you could control a warg,” said one in a sneering voice; and they both drew their bows and aimed them at Arion who was still lying on the ground. But before they could loose their arrows, there was a distant cry and a whistling sound on the wind as four feathered shafts cut through the air and struck both orcs to the ground. Arion turned and saw his mother and her men approaching, still at a distance, but their hours of practice at the butts had, thankfully, paid off.

Riding closer, Tauriel shot another arrow which hit the shoulder of one of the enemy wargs and it turned and bounded away into the wood with the other close behind it. Arion scrambled to his feet and called to Warg, but his pet turned, looked at him once and then ran into the trees. Arion stood frozen to the spot, completely dumbfounded.

His mother came riding up and he turned to her with wide, stricken eyes. Tauriel pulled her son up behind her on her horse and they all searched for a while, calling his name. But there was no response and Tauriel wondered if they would ever see Arion’s pet again.

At last, he leaned against his mother’s shoulder and he wept, not caring what the others thought. “He’s gone,” he said.

“Yes,” said Tauriel gently. “Perhaps it has been a lonely existence for him and the call of his own kind was stronger than his love for you.”

And, slowly, they rode back to the outpost.

When they got back to the farmhouse, the rest of the troop expressed shock and sympathy and Arion derived some comfort from this. But, suddenly, their kind words were interrupted by a terrible howling from the stables.

“Dog!” exclaimed Arion. “I had forgotten all about him.” And then he turned to his mother and said: “He knows.” And he went out to comfort him.

But Dog was inconsolable. He refused to eat but whimpered and howled all evening. In the end, Arion went out to spend the night in the barn with him and, eventually, both fell asleep.

As the dawn came, the whole farmhouse was roused early by the sound of frantic hooves. They all dragged on some clothing and rushed out into the yard. There, looking pale and tired and drawn, was Lostwithiel. He searched amongst the faces crowding about him until he found Tauriel’s. “It’s Thorin,” he said. And she nodded her head as if she already knew.

.o00o.

Pt III

Back at the party, the previous night, Poppy was still having a good time and Thorin and Margaret were still chatting amiably together. But Lostwithiel had noticed how closely they were sitting and how their heads were bent together and nearly touched. And he didn’t like it. Ever since his naughty moment with Tauriel just after Arion was born, when the troop had been first set up, his guilt had been such that he was over-protective towards her. And now he watched Thorin with this woman convinced that something not quite right was happening.

“What are you looking at, ‘Thiel?” asked Poppy as she slid an arm quietly around his waist. 

At first, he wasn’t going to say anything but then he couldn’t resist remarking: “Look over there. What do you think your father is up to?”

Poppy watched Thorin and Margaret for some time and her brow furrowed: “I’m not quite sure, but I don’t like it.” And the two of them stood there and carried on watching suspiciously.

Margaret, in fact, was about to take her leave. “Thank you so much, Thorin, for keeping me company,” she said in her low, sweet voice, “but I must look for my father. He’s probably wondering where I have got to.” And she smiled and rose to her feet. Thorin got to his feet too but, as she stood, she suddenly swayed and put her hand to her forehead.

Concerned, Thorin took her by the elbow and asked solicitously, “Are you feeling all right?”

“Oh,” she said faintly. “I’m so sorry but the room appears to be turning. It’s rather hot in here, isn’t it? But I’m sure I shall be all right in a moment.” And she gave him an apologetic smile.

“Shall I fetch you a drink?” asked Thorin but she shook her head.

“Perhaps if you could just help me to that window for a breath of fresh air,” she murmured and she gestured to the windows that led out onto a wide balcony.

Thorin gently took her outside and she leaned on the railing taking deep breaths of the cool night air.

“So kind of you,” she said quietly. “I think I may be ready to go now.” And she turned towards him and gave him her hand with a warm smile. But, as he took it, she swayed again and fell upon his broad chest.

Thorin was worried. She seemed so tiny and fragile as she lay there and he thought it would be best if he could lead her to a seat and then get some help. He supported her by her arms but her head still drooped upon his chest.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Is there anything or anyone you need?”

“Yes,” she whispered and she drooped even more heavily in his arms and he was forced to hold her to his breast. “I need you.”

Thorin stiffened. He was being pursued again and he hadn’t even realised it. The guile of this woman was amazing. He took her by the shoulders and tried to set her away from him but she clung to him and said in a strange voice that was both quiet and firm: “I want you to listen to what I have to say and not interrupt me until I have finished. Will you do that?”

For a moment, Thorin wondered if he had misunderstood the situation and he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Tell me,” he said.

Poppy and Lostwithiel, meanwhile, had seen Thorin and Margaret disappear together out onto the balcony. Poppy indignantly made to follow but Lostwithiel grasped her arm and held her back.

“We need to tread carefully here,” he said. “If they’re talking about something important, they won’t appreciate it if you just go barging in. You’ll be in trouble. Let’s give them five minutes first and then you and I can casually saunter out onto the balcony ourselves and see what’s going on.”

Poppy hesitated and then nodded her head in agreement.

Thorin was listening to Margaret, who continued to talk in her quiet, sweet voice. “I was only sixteen when I first saw you sing that night. You brought my heart up into my mouth and I loved you from that moment. Can you imagine what it has been like all these years? I think about you every waking moment and dream about you every night - when I manage to get to sleep, that is.”

Her arms went about him even more tightly and her voice murmured against his breast so that he could hardly catch what she was saying.

“I used to attend every dance, every feast, every social gathering in the hope that I would see you again, but I never did. I hated those parties but my father thought I was a bit of a flibbertigibbet and decided that it was time I was married. He introduced me to endless young men and some of them even asked for my hand. But, none of them lived up to my image of you and I was involved in many embarrassing scenes and many violent arguments with my father.”

Thorin put his hand under her chin and raised her face so that he could look down in her eyes. “But, surely,” he said gently, “you know that I love my wife and that you have no hope?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “I know that this is a hopeless love. I also know that I have lived in pain for 15 years and that this passion must be resolved because I cannot stand to live like this any longer.”

And, as she said this, she stepped away from him and let fall from her sleeve a long, sharp stiletto. “I am going to end it now,” she said calmly. 

Thorin put up his hand to stop her. “Margaret, don’t hurt yourself. I’m not worth it. You’re young and life is too wonderful to throw it away.”

She gave a strange laugh and said, “I know that life could be wonderful if only you would let me experience it. But how can I enjoy life when you are always there tormenting me?”

And she suddenly stepped forward and brought the knife down upon him in a glittering arc.

Thorin was stunned at this unexpected attack but he managed to ward off the blow and the knife pierced his forearm. She was small but strong and the knife attack had been launched with all the strength of her being. Thorin was knocked to the floor and Margaret lifted the stiletto again for a death blow. But her wrist was seized from behind and she was spun around by a screaming fury with long, golden curls who tried to wrench the knife from her grasp. 

Poppy and Lostwithiel had stood aghast by the doors of the balcony, witnessing the attack upon the dwarf. It had been so sudden. One moment Margaret had been nestled in Thorin’s arms; the next, the knife was out and she had struck him to the floor. Lostwithiel was behind Poppy so the girl had got there first and, before the elf could do anything to help, Margaret had turned her anger upon Poppy and, in a last surge of frenzy, suddenly drove the stiletto through the girl’s breast. Lostwithiel seized the knife then and, snatching it from the woman’s grasp, cast it across the room. A number of the guests came running to his aid and, pinioning the now struggling and weeping Margaret by her arms, dragged her away.

Thorin pulled himself to his feet, his arm streaming blood and managed to half stagger, half crawl to the side of his prostrate daughter. “Get the physician!” he cried to Lostwithiel in an anguished voice.

.o00o. 

Lostwithiel had ridden with all speed to fetch Tauriel up at the farmhouse. “It’s Thorin,” he said as they all rushed out to meet him in the early dawn. “And Poppy,” he added, knowing how dreadful the news would be.

“Poppy!” gasped Tauriel, a confused look coming into her eyes.

“A mad woman attacked Thorin and Poppy tried to save him,” said the elf lord, taking Tauriel’s hands and squeezing them. “Thorin received a knife wound in the arm – don’t worry – he’s all right – but the woman stabbed Poppy in the chest and she’s still unconscious. Thorin sent me to fetch both you and Arion.”

In a daze, Tauriel looked up at Lostwithiel. “Rose..... Rose should be with her too. If anything should happen.......” And her voice drifted into silence. The elf lord arranged for Borondin to scour the North for Rose. She might arrive too late but at least they would have tried.

Tauriel gathered her things together while Arion saddled Magpie and got the trap ready for his mother. They would need it for Dog who was still miserable and lethargic this morning. There was no way he was going to leave Dog behind and he was afraid that his pet was going to die too. And suddenly all the woes of the world seemed to be falling upon the lad’s shoulders. In a tense little band and with the concern and best wishes from the rest of the troop ringing in their ears, Tauriel, Arion and Lostwithiel set out for the Grey Havens.

.o00o. 

Pt IV 

When Tauriel and Arion reached Roger’s mansion, Thorin was sitting on the steps waiting for them. His left arm was bandaged and strapped across his chest and his face was grey and drawn. “She’s still unconscious,” he told her as he lifted his wife down from the trap with his good arm. And then he shut his eyes and held her to his breast. Somehow, he thought, all would be well now that Tauriel had come.

But nothing changed. Poppy had been tucked up in a beautiful bedchamber. The pristine white linen was pulled up to her chin and she lay there with her eyes closed, her face as blanched and as white as the linen. The physician had been several times and was keeping her lightly sedated. “Don’t expect her to wake up yet,” he had said. And so, they took turns to keep watch over her, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in small groups. 

Thorin sat in the bedroom with Tauriel. He gently stroked his daughter’s hair and told his wife what had happened. “Her name was Margaret and she seemed like a perfectly ordinary young woman - very quiet and sweet-natured. And because she seemed so shy, I decided to be kind to her and keep her company.” He sighed. “I was being lazy, I suppose,” he said. “It just seemed so much easier to talk to this woman in a quiet corner than to circulate and be forced into conversations with people I didn’t like.”

Tauriel came from where she was standing at the foot of the bed and put an arm around his shoulder. He took her hand in his own and said quietly: “Sit on my lap and rest. You must be exhausted.”

She had been wanting to do just that since she had first entered the room but she was worried about his injured arm. However, Thorin reached for her and she sat down and leaned her head upon his broad chest and closed her eyes. “Tell me what happened next,” she said.

“Well, after a while, this woman finally made ready to go but, as she stood, she said she felt dizzy.” Thorin pulled a face. “I suspected nothing,” he said. “And then we went out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air and that’s when she leaned against me and told me that she had loved me for years.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Yes, I know,” said her husband. “It rather took me aback too. And when she started to tell me about all the years of hopeless love she had endured, I suddenly realised that she was a bit mad.”

“But why didn’t you get help at that point?” asked Tauriel.

“Because I’m a stupid dwarf and I thought I could handle her with a bit of kindness,” he grimaced. “But then she drew a knife and I thought she was going to kill herself.” He looked at his daughter lying so still on the bed. “How could I get things so wrong?”

Tauriel put her hand up to his face and touched him gently; and then she kissed him. “How could you have known what was in her mind?” she said.

“But that’s the whole point,” he groaned. “I didn’t know and I jumped to the wrong conclusions. And then she tried to kill me. I was on the ground and when she came at me again, Poppy rushed up behind her and seized her. But the woman was possessed and she turned on Poppy and stabbed her. Lostwithiel grabbed her then and it was all over.” He looked at Tauriel with a wry grin. “I do wish that wretched elf would stop saving my life. I owe him enough already.” And she kissed him again. “The physician came then. It’s a serious wound and he has promised to attend her regularly.”

“And what does he think?” asked Tauriel anxiously.

“He doesn’t know what to think,” said Thorin. “We have to wait and see.”

“I’ve sent Borondin up North to see if he can find Rose,” Tauriel said and Thorin’s heart lifted a little. It would help them all to have Rose with them.

“And what has happened to Margaret?” asked Tauriel. 

“She’s with the elves,” he said. “They will look after her in a kindly fashion but she cannot be released.”

And so they sat there quietly together until, at last, she fell asleep on his breast. They had sat in the bed chamber for hours and so Thorin gently lifted his wife in one powerful arm and took her to their own room next door where he laid her on their bed and pulled a coverlet over her. After that, he went to find Arion, Roger and Lostwithiel and asked them to take over for a few hours so that he also could get some sleep. 

And that was how the next few days continued. Poppy was no longer sedated but she showed no sign of stirring; and now a fever was developing. Thorin and Tauriel continued to exchange places with the elf and the two young men; and the doctor visited constantly and attempted to reassure them.

Roger stood moodily by Poppy’s bedroom window while Arion and Lostwithiel sat by her bed. He was very upset. He had loved Rose and this was Rose’s sister. On top of that, the attack had happened in his home. He felt somehow responsible as if he could have prevented it. He had been dancing with Poppy earlier in the evening and she had wanted to continue. But he had said he was too tired and that’s when she had drifted over to Lostwithiel and had got herself entangled in the fracas between Margaret and Thorin. If only they had carried on dancing, Lostwithiel would have sorted it out without her getting in the way.

He glanced over at the bed. She was a beautiful child and he couldn’t help but sigh at her long, golden curls spread out on the pillow. She was like her sister – and yet different. She already had a sophisticated elegance that Rose had never attained – and hadn’t wanted either. She mixed comfortably with his family and his friends and his father thought her wonderful – lots of potential, he had said vaguely once. He had often caught her hobnobbing happily with his father in a corner, making him laugh and holding onto his arm in a charmingly friendly way. “She’ll be a real beauty in a few years’ time,” he had said, knowingly. “Some young man will be lucky to get her. Nothing like her sister, I’m very glad to say.” And he had given Roger a hard look.

But, in fact, she WAS like Rose. She felt passionately about her parents and had Rose’s courage too. And her long, curly hair reminded him of that of her sister’s, even if it was as golden as Rose’s was black. Roger suddenly realised how much he liked her and how frightened he was that she was going to die. 

Lostwithiel sat by the bed, holding Poppy’s limp hand and having similar thoughts. She was so beautiful and was far too young to die. He had always had a problem with death, like most elves. It seemed unnatural to die and when it happened – and he was thinking here of the great pile of elven dead at the Battle of the Five Armies – his brain seemed to go into shock. How could this young girl, so full of life only a few days ago, just – stop? His head hurt with thinking about it. If only he hadn’t pointed out Thorin’s apparent interest in Margaret to her. Then she would have gone off for another dance with some handsome young lad and he would have dealt with the attack on Thorin all by himself. And, successfully, he was sure. He had always been so close to Poppy and now she was lying there, teetering on the brink of something he just didn’t understand. And he could offer no comfort to her parents or sibling either.

He looked across the bed at Arion who seemed to be sitting in some kind of a daze. In fact, Arion’s daze consisted mainly of guilt. He had that awful feeling that his sister was about to die before he could make things up to her. He spoke to her in his head, saying sorry for all sorts of things but mainly for never taking her seriously and always undervaluing her. Rose had been his life. For nearly as far back as he could remember, this older sister had always been there and he had loved her fiercely. People used to say that they were joined at the hip - and this was true. But, when Poppy was born, he could find no place for his new little sister in his affections or his life. She was just a nuisance, always in the way, and he was only just beginning to realise how brutally he had rejected her. No wonder she had often been so difficult. And yet, she was a brave little thing and she had saved their father from death. But, as a reward, she now lay dying herself. All he could think was that it would be all right when Rose came because Rose always knew what to do.

His father came in then and relieved him and Roger. And it was, indeed, a relief. He didn’t want to sit and watch his sister slowly die.

Thorin nodded to Lostwithiel and put down a lunch tray. The two of them pushed around the food in silence. They were both eaten up with grief and exhaustion and there was nothing to say. Thorin took Arion’s seat and picked up Poppy’s hand. “Not much change,” said Lostwithiel, “but I think the fever’s getting worse.”

Thorin gently squeezed Poppy’s damp and limp hand, wondering if she were aware of him. She was the daughter of his heart, the child he thought he would never have. And now she was slipping away from him. In spite of all his silly spoiling, she had begun, in recent years, to rise above both this and her obvious jealousy of the relationship that existed between Arion and Rose. She was turning into a daughter he could like and be proud of and not one that he merely loved.

And so their vigil slowly dragged on until more than a week had passed. The physician paid yet another visit and, this time, he looked worried. “She’s just not making any progress,” he said, “and the fever seems to be getting a stronger grip. The wound is infected and none of my potions or pills are having any effect.” He touched Tauriel lightly on the arm. “We can only hope,” he said.

Poppy was no longer pale and cold but hot and flushed; and it seemed to those who watched that this was even worse than the pallor. At last, late one night, there was a thunder of hooves in the courtyard and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Thorin and Tauriel were on duty in the bed chamber and stood up expectantly. And Rose was in the room at last. She embraced them both tightly and then said: “I have not come alone. I have brought help.” 

Into the room came Telbarad and another Ranger. This one looked very young but Thorin guessed he must be about thirty. Like all Rangers, he was grim-faced and serious. Like Telbarad, he had dishevelled brown hair and a short beard. “This is Estel,” said Telbarad. “He is a herb-master and he needs to examine Rose.”

But Thorin stood in his way and rumbled: “You are little more than a youth. Why should I trust you when the best physician in the Grey Havens has made no progress?” 

The young man answered calmly: “It is because your best doctors have made no progress that you will have to trust me.” And he walked past Thorin and started to examine Poppy who still lay unmoving on the bed.

Estel took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, opening up a bag of medicinal plants and asking for water to be boiled and for clean cloths to be brought to him. But he also took Poppy by the hands and, shutting his eyes, began to tremble as if he struggled with an invisible power.

Thorin stepped forward. “What is he doing?” he snarled. But Telbarad took him firmly by his shoulder and whispered in his ear: “Don’t you understand? He has the hands of a healer.”

Thorin looked startled and wondered if he did, actually, fully understood what Telbarad was saying. “But, the old wives say that only one person has the hands of a healer....”

“Yes,” said Rose gently, “and he has come. And you must tell no-one. He has come as a favour to me, to save my sister.”

And so, the young Ranger sweated and laboured for the next few hours until, suddenly, Poppy let out a moan and finally began to move restlessly on her pillow. Estel spoke softly to her and eventually she fell into a natural sleep. He changed the dressings on her wound and stepped back, looking exhausted. “I think she will be all right,” he said, “after she has slept through this night.”

Tauriel thanked him and bowed over his hand. And Thorin thanked him gruffly too and wiped a tear of relief from his eye. “You have put yourself in danger for my daughter,” he said, “and I have no words.”

Estel gave him a lop-sided smile. “Well, then, master dwarf, if you have no words then you can buy me a round if you should ever see me at the Prancing Pony in Bree. There, I go under the name of Strider.” And he clapped him on the shoulder.

Rose stepped forward then and said that Estel and Telbarad had to go but that she would stay for a few days so that she could see Arion and Lostwithiel and make sure that Poppy was truly recovered the next morning. And then her husband and the young man departed.

In the middle of the night, Arion and Lostwithiel and Roger got up from their beds to do their shift by Poppy’s bed. And their joy was two-fold when they found not only Rose in the bed chamber but also Poppy sleeping quietly with her fever gone.

“What on earth caused this change in her?” asked Arion in amazement.

“Oh,” said Rose casually, “Telbarad brought a Ranger friend with him who has a considerable knowledge of herb lore and he knew exactly what to do.”

“Thank goodness,” said Lostwithiel and, although they were all exhausted, none of them would retire but sat around Poppy’s bed, dozing in their chairs or sleeping with their heads on the coverlet.

At last, the morning came and Poppy opened her eyes. “Can I have a drink?” she said. And she made a steady recovery from that moment onwards. 

The physician was taken aback too. “This is so unexpected,” he said. “I wish I could have spoken with your Ranger and shared some of his herb-lore.”

Later that day, while Poppy was taking a nap, Tauriel, Thorin and Rose chatted quietly in a corner of her room. “Estel was brought up in Elrond’s household from the age of two. His mother died at Rivendell and he only discovered his true destiny ten years ago.”

“I’m surprised we didn’t see him there when we stayed with Elrond on our way to and from Mirkwood,” Tauriel said. “And he must have been a young lad when Arion was born and I was pregnant in Rivendell for nearly a year.”

“He might have been with his grandmother in Lothlorien,” said Rose, “or Elrond might have kept him out of your sight. It was important that no-one knew who or where he was.”

"The hands of the King are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known,” mused Thorin. “A king without a throne. I know just how he must feel.”

“He is the last of his line,” said Rose, “and no-one must know until he is ready to come into his own. It might be years yet.”

“I would like to see it,” said Thorin, “but perhaps I shall not live so long.” And Tauriel reached out and took him by the hand.

.o00o. 

Rose left a cordial that she said would help Dog’s poor old bones before she set off a day later. He had been very pleased to see her and had cheered up considerably. She had also tended Thorin’s wound and that had improved too.

Tauriel lay in bed with her husband and gently stroked his bandaged arm. “I miss Rose so much,” she said, “but her work in the North is important to all of us and she seems very happy.”

“We all miss her,” said Thorin. “But, as long as I have you.....” he added and he kissed her tenderly. 

“Make love to me, Thorin,” she said. “Death has been very near to us this past week and I want you to wipe the fear from my mind.”

He took her gently in his arms, caressing her hair and murmuring in her ear. And he made love to her into the night until all her fears were wiped away and they both fell deeply asleep.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and his Daughter. Will Poppy, as she gets older, find herself a man/elf all of her own? And will this mean even more clashes with her father? I expect so, LOL!


	23. Thorin and his Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, after that fright in the previous story, Thorin is about to experience another one. Will his children ever stop running rings around him? And will Poppy, like Rose, find the man/elf of her dreams?

Thorin and his Daughter

Pt I

 

Thorin was having a few quiet moments down by the river. Tauriel was doing her duty up at the outpost and Poppy was in the stables grooming Rosie Girl, so Thorin had brought his lunch down to the river bank to eat his food in the sun. He was leaning his back against a willow and he could see fish darting just below the water whilst dragonflies skimmed the surface. It was a lovely place to be and the family had been lucky to call it home.

Not that Poppy was appreciating it much at the moment. She was sixteen now and the forge at the crossroads seemed a long way from the fun and frivolity of the Grey Havens. Thorin would only allow her into town to see her friends if he could accompany her and then he would insist on sitting in a corner of the inn where they were all meeting up for a sociable evening or at the mansion where a party was being held or under a tree at the end of a beach where she might be attending a picnic so that he could keep his eye on her and make sure she didn’t get into any trouble.

“For goodness’ sake, father,” she would say. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” he would respond brusquely. “And I don’t trust any of your friends either!”

“But I feel such a fool with you breathing down my neck,” she would complain tetchily. “And you really cramp everyone’s style.”

“Good,” was his response. “Most of your friends are much too old for you, and if they want the company of a sixteen year old girl, then they must put up with her father too.”

“Well, if you carry on like this,” she snapped, “I shan’t have any friends and then I shall be stuck out here with nothing to do and nowhere to go.” And she had flounced out of the room.

Thorin was pondering this conversation and others like it as he ate his bread and cheese. The biggest problem really was her friendship with Roger. He had been Rose’s friend and then that friendship had moved on to Arion and now Poppy had inherited it too. Both Rose and Roger were 26 but he had grown close to Poppy when she had been an invalid in his home for some weeks after she had been stabbed during a party when a mad woman had tried to kill Thorin and Poppy had tried to protect him. 

That was two years ago and Roger had been an admirable nurse. He had sat with her and he had read to and chatted with her. He had run around, fetching her trays of food and brushing her hair and trotting off on errands. Thorin and Tauriel were always there somewhere and it hadn’t occurred to Thorin then that his daughter was anything more to Roger than a little girl who had been badly hurt or that Roger wasn’t just a kind young man who was involved in looking after Poppy because he had been in love with Rose and was a friend of Arion.

But a strong friendship began to emerge from the sickroom, not just between Roger and Poppy but between Poppy and Roger’s father. Barnaby Waller had lost a little daughter when she had been only five years old. She had had golden curls like Poppy and when Barnaby looked at her he liked to imagine that she was his daughter returned to him. And perhaps she could be his daughter, he thought, if only Roger would pull his socks up and see what a superb addition to the family Poppy could be. And, in recent months, Roger had, indeed, begun to pull his socks up and was now considering Poppy as a potential bride rather than as Rose’s little sister. 

“I want to speak bluntly to you, Roger,” his father had said. “You’re my only child and down to inherit all my wealth. You’re of an age to marry now and to give me some grandchildren so that I know the inheritance is secure.”

And Roger had nodded. He understood his duty.

“Now, this Poppy. She’s a lovely girl and one I would be pleased to see you marry. She’ll inherit quite a bit from her father in the end and she’s just the sort to make a proper hostess in the Waller home. She’s beautiful; she’s charming; she’s gracious. I don’t think you’ll find better this side of the Misty Mountains.”

Roger had to admit that his father was probably right, “But I don’t see, father, how I can ever court her or get to know her as a potential bride rather than a friend with Thorin breathing down our necks all the time. I’ve never even kissed her.”

Barnaby could see his problem and told his son he would think on it.

Thorin suspected that Poppy was getting closer to Roger and this was why he tagged along whenever she went into town. She was only sixteen and not old enough, in his opinion, to take boys seriously. 

Tauriel had also wondered if her husband were following Poppy too closely but Thorin was adamant. “Arion got into a lot of trouble when he spent that time with Roger; and then I took my eyes off Rose for five seconds,” he said to his wife, “and she was down on the river-bank up to no good with Telbarad. And I’m not going to let it happen to Poppy. She’s younger and a lot sillier than Rose and she’ll get into mischief the minute she has half a chance.”

“You might just as well chain us together at the wrist,” Poppy had complained sullenly on one occasion.

“Don’t put ideas in my head,” her father had rumbled.

Poppy had wanted to remind him of that time in the Grey Havens when she had been in Thorin’s company and she had been attacked because of him. But she had bitten her tongue. There had been a real to-do, so Rose and Arion had told her, just before her birth when Thorin had decided that he was a dangerous person to be with and tried to ship them all off to Rivendell without him.

Well, perhaps Rivendell would be a nice place to move to, she sometimes thought. She liked elves and she was half-elven herself. She had only met Elrond once at Rose’s wedding and he had seemed quite delightful; and her siblings had entertained her with stories of the fun they had had with him. But, the thought of moving away from her beloved father put the lid on that idea.

Her relationship with Thorin was intense but edgy. She loved him very much and by far the very worst moment of her life was when she had seen that woman attack him and she thought he was going to die. And the anger she had felt when Arion had hit him and she had found him bleeding on the ground....... She could quite easily have strangled her brother at that moment.

It had been so easy when she was a little girl and she could wrap him around her finger – just like she could most men such as Lostwithiel, the other elves at the outpost, Roger and his father. She was so pretty and had such pretty ways that they all succumbed to her wheedling. But, as she got older, Thorin had begun to dig his heels in and now he was following her around everywhere, spoiling her fun. They always seemed to be scrapping these days.

She sighed as she finished grooming Rosie Girl in the stables. Roger’s father had just sent her yet another invitation to a party at his mansion but she only wanted to go if she could break free from Thorin. She tidied herself up and decided that, this time, she wouldn’t argue with him but would try to be sweet and amenable. So, Poppy brushed her golden curls and set off to find him down by the river.

Thorin was pleased when Poppy joined him there. He had only just decided that he was becoming a real grump with his daughter and that he needed to try harder. She sat down next to him and, linking her arm in his, leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s lovely down here, isn’t it?” she said in a sweet, dreamy voice. “How lucky we are to live here,” she lied. “And,” she continued, giving him a peck on the cheek, “how lucky I am to have you as a father.”

Thorin grinned. He was not a complete fool but he had enjoyed the kiss and it was comfortable sitting here shoulder to shoulder with his daughter. “So, tell me. What is it you want?” he asked, feeling just a little sad that the only time she was really nice to him these days was when she wanted something.

“Umm,” said Poppy, a bit shame-faced because she felt caught out, “it’s about this party tomorrow.”

Thorin gave an inward groan. He could see another argument looming. Keep your temper, he told himself. “What about the party?” he asked.

“Well, I really appreciate it that you always escort me to the Grey Havens,” she said in a humble voice. “I understand completely that it would be too dangerous for me to travel there on my own. And,” she went on, “it must be such a nuisance for you that all my gadding about takes you away from important things like working on your commissions. And, of course, poor mother has to spend a couple of days on her own.” An amused glint came into Thorin’s eyes as he wondered where this was going.

“Well,” she continued doggedly as her father made no response, “this is supposed to be a party just for young people, not for adults, and I was wondering........” Poppy broke off.

“Yes?” asked Thorin, grinning to himself. He had already decided to relax his hold a bit, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

“I was wondering if, just this once.....just on this occasion......you just couldn’t........well, perhaps....” and she stuttered to a halt again. And then she saw her father’s amused look and she dug him in the ribs. “Oh, father,” she complained, “you’re just teasing me. What I want to know is, can you just not come to the party as well this time?”

“Yes,” said Thorin.

“Yes, you will or yes, you won’t?” asked Poppy startled.

“Yes, I won’t,” said Thorin and he laughed outright to see her amazement. “But,” he added, “although I may not be in the room, I shall be in another part of the house and so don’t imagine that you’ll be completely unsupervised.”

Poppy let out a little scream and threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big hug.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cried. “I shall be really, really good,” she promised and Thorin looked happy that he had given his daughter so much pleasure. But, Poppy was thinking to herself: at last, an opportunity to find out a bit more about Roger while my father’s not looking.

.o00o. 

 

Pt II

They set out for the Grey Havens the next day. But, before they left, Poppy picked some wildflowers from a neighbouring meadow and then went to place them on the small mound in the corner of the vegetable garden. Dog had finally died the previous year and, for his last months, his legs had been so bad that he could hardly walk so Poppy had encouraged him to sleep in her bedroom. But, that last night, he had crawled out to the stable and that’s where they had found him in the morning, lying on Warg’s old blanket, lifeless and cold. 

Dog had really missed Warg, as they all did. Every time Arion went out on a patrol at the outpost, he was on the alert for him. But he seemed to have disappeared completely. Poppy hated leaving Dog on his own and Tauriel wouldn’t be home until the following day. And so she arranged the flowers in a small pottery jug on his grave and blew him a kiss before she mounted her horse.

Poppy and Thorin chatted amiably as they rode.

“Who’s going to be at the party?” asked Thorin.

“Oh, you know, the usual crowd,” she said.

“Roger’s friends,” he commented.

“Well, they are my friends too. Can I help it if we’re isolated out here at the forge and I don’t get many opportunities to socialise and meet new people?” 

She sounded a little bad-tempered and so Thorin drew in his horns a bit. “Yes, I’m sorry if you feel cut off but we discussed it all before you were born and the forge seemed to offer the most advantages.”

Name one, she wanted to say, but she didn’t.

“I’m just sorry that you haven’t got friends of your own age,” continued Thorin. “Roger and his friends may be lively and well-meaning but they’re a bit of a ramshackle crew and they’re ten years older than you are. I sometimes wonder why they like you so much.”

Because I’m pretty, because I’m fun, because I seem as grown up as they are, thought Poppy. And it was true that her elven blood had given her at least an appearance of maturity that Roger and his friends as yet seemed to lack.

“Well, I like going to stay at Roger’s house,” she said. “His father is lovely and always makes me feel so welcome.”

Thorin wondered if she were making an odious comparison and felt a bit miffed. But, it was true that Barnaby Waller seemed to be very fond of his daughter and it gave him a certain pleasure to know that Poppy was so well received and admired by the richest man in the town. She had such charm and grace that she could fit in anywhere. A trait not acquired from my side of the family, he thought with a grin. His side had donated the stubbornness and grit. Perhaps she had yet to show her dwarven side to Barnaby. Very wise, he thought.

Barnaby was delighted to see them – even me, thought Thorin. I seem to have grown on him over the years. He knew about Barnaby’s daughter and it was touching and quite sad to see the way he fussed over Poppy. And suddenly, it hit Thorin: Barnaby was lining Poppy up to be Roger’s bride. He could see that Poppy brought a lot to the table but mainly he saw the yearning and the pain in Barnaby’s eyes. And, did he want Poppy just to be a substitute for a dead child? Or could a marriage between his daughter and Roger be a successful one? Thorin didn’t know. But, mostly he felt that she was still too young and that he didn’t want to lose her yet.

As usual, Poppy gazed around the elegant drawing-room, imagining herself mistress of all she surveyed. It was a very beautiful room. Barnaby, with his trading ships, had access to goods from all over Middle-earth: his furniture was of the finest quality, the china and glass on the shelves was exquisite and the decor was in the very best taste. She would live in such comfort and luxury if she married Roger and she knew she had the makings of a perfect hostess. Is this what she wanted? She intended to find out this weekend.

Roger soon came bouncing into the room. The older he got, the better-looking he became, thought Thorin. He was tall and athletic, clean-shaven and with dark, wavy hair. There was always a merry twinkle in his eye. He was a good-natured boy and he would have to be if he wants to take on my daughter, Thorin’s thoughts continued. He was sure that Roger and his father were totally unaware as yet of Poppy’s manipulative ways or how petulant she could be when crossed. All they saw was a pretty young girl who laughed and chatted and hung on their arm and made them feel special.

Roger and Poppy sat with their heads together in a corner, discussing the coming party. Thorin and Barnaby discussed trade and business. Barnaby was surprised at how much he liked Thorin. Rose had been a trouble-maker and he was glad that she was now far away in the North and, without her presence, the Oakenshields had become a very respectable family.

Barnaby had given Roger a large room in the mansion for his party and soon he and Poppy went off to see if they could help with setting it up. Servants were putting out flowers and filling candelabra with fresh candles and laying side tables with cloths and plates all ready to be laden with food and a group of musicians were practising in the corner. The two young people went and chatted with them about their favourite tunes. “I think it’s going to be a good night!” grinned Roger.

He gave Poppy a side-long glance. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl and her golden curls had fascinated him ever since he had seen her hair spread out upon the pillow when she was ill two years ago. He wanted to take her into a dark corner where he could run his fingers through those beautiful locks and kiss those tempting cupid’s bow lips and pull that voluptuous little body against his own. Some chance! With Thorin suspiciously following their every move, he had been thwarted at every turn. Would he really have to marry her before he could touch her? Or would he get an opportunity this evening? He gave her a cheeky grin which she returned with a seductive smile. Roger suddenly felt hot all over.

Roger was not an experienced young man. His father had warned him bluntly about the loose women of the town and he had taken his father’s advice seriously. Barnaby knew about such things and he would be a fool not to listen to him. So, there he was, twenty-six years of age and still a frustrated virgin. He wondered how the elves and dwarves coped with chastity for so long. It must be really hard, in particular, on the dwarves, because there was a serious shortage of dwarven women. Did they really remain virgins for their entire lives even when they couldn’t find a partner? And he thought about Thorin who had not got married until he was 200 years old. Two hundred! And he was so manly and attractive too. Even Roger had noticed the way that the eyes of women followed him around the room. And his attraction had led to a number of “incidents” including the one in Roger’s own home. How on earth could even a dwarf hold out against such demonstrations of passion? If Roger had been in his shoes, he would have succumbed straight away.

Well, Poppy had told him that, tonight, Thorin promised that he would stay away from the main party, even though he might lurk somewhere in another room. Roger was beginning to feel quite excited. It wasn’t that he wanted to take advantage of Poppy. He was very fond of her and might even love her. And when he imagined taking Poppy to his bed every night then the thought of marrying her seemed like an even better idea. He was confident, as his father said, that she would make a perfect partner for him and a perfect new member of the Waller family. But he had to be careful how he treated her or his father would be furious and skin him alive. His father loved Poppy as if she were his own daughter, so that wasn’t just one but two fathers he had to worry about.

As the afternoon waned, they went off to their separate rooms to dress for the party. When Poppy emerged, Roger was waiting for her and he was knocked back by her appearance. Such an evening as this had been planned by Poppy for a long time. She had got one of the maids to help her with her hair so that it was now partly piled on her head in quite an adult and sophisticated way whilst the rest was allowed to fall and tumble down her back in enticing ripples.

Her dress had been kept in reserve, like the styling of her hair, for maximum effect. It was more adult than the type of gown she normally wore and had a slightly lower neckline which, although it didn’t plunge in an all-revealing way, just hinted at the top of her breasts so that Roger felt his tongue was hanging out and he shut his mouth quickly. The material was her mother’s favourite colour, a shimmering sea-green, and she knew that this colour favoured blonds. The material was very fine and clung sensuously to her attractive figure. A delicate golden necklace, a present from Thorin, hung about her neck and dipped slightly below the neckline. Roger found his eyes were glued to it as it rose and fell above and below the material when she walked.

Thorin emerged from his own room just then and he stopped abruptly and stared at Poppy whilst Poppy smiled sweetly and innocently at him. He was about to say, “Get back in your room, young lady, and change that dress,” when Barnaby suddenly came down the corridor.

His eyes softened when he saw Poppy and he took her hand and then twirled her around. “You look wonderful, child,” he said with true admiration in his voice. “Absolutely beautiful! Your father should be really proud of you!” And he turned for confirmation to Thorin and Thorin found he had to swallow his words.

“Yes, very nice,” he managed to mutter.

“Nice!” said Barnaby. “Well, it’s more than nice. I think your daughter will be the most beautiful girl in the room tonight. Don’t you agree, Roger?”

“Oh, definitely, father,” said Roger, grinning at Thorin’s discomfiture.

They went off then to the dining-room where Thorin and Barnaby ate well but the two young people only snacked in readiness for the food at the party later that evening. When the guests started to arrive, Barnaby took Thorin by the arm and suggested that it was time for the adults to make themselves scarce. Thorin wanted to sit in the library next to the party room but Barnaby laughed and said that his presence there would be too oppressive and whisked him off to his private apartments on the far side of the house.

Roger was right about the party: it was a very good night. The food and wine were superb, the musicians played everyone’s favourite music and the group of guests who had been friends with each other for some time were thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. They had first known Poppy as Rose’s sister but now they liked her for herself, however young she was, and she was a favourite member of the group. The girls admired her dress and hair and the young men made suggestive remarks in a good-humoured way that made her laugh. Roger positioned himself by her side, determined that no other lad would elbow him out. And Poppy was feeling quite triumphant.

Thorin, meanwhile, fidgeted restlessly in Barnaby’s apartment whilst the merchant plied him with fine wines. “Oh, keep still, Thorin,” he laughed. “What on earth do you think will happen to your daughter in my house? They’re a really good bunch of young people and Roger will keep an eye on her.”

Yes, thought Thorin. Just what I’m worried about. Not just one eye but both of them had been on her earlier and they were out on stalks. But he tried to hide his concern out of politeness to his host and had another cup of wine.

Back at the party, it was beginning to get quite late and Roger had manoeuvred Poppy into a quiet corner. She knew what he was up to and played along with him quite willingly. “You know,” he murmured in her ear, “your hair shines like gold in this candlelight.” Poppy wanted to groan and roll up her eyes but, for an inexperienced young man, she supposed he was trying quite hard.

“Oh, do you think so, Roger?” she said coyly. “What a lovely thing to say.” 

“You look just like a princess in that dress,” he continued, and now he was breathing hotly on her neck.

“A princess! My, I haven’t been called a princess since I was a child,” she said, opening her eyes wide.

Roger was steering her in the right direction now. “You wouldn’t believe how much you look like the princess in a painting of my father’s. When I was a little boy, I used to think her the most beautiful creature in the world.”

He genuinely had her interest now. “Would you like to see it? She’s hanging over the fireplace in the library next door.”

She grimaced. “Isn’t my father likely to be there?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. My father said he would take him off to his apartments,” Roger reassured her.

And so, Poppy allowed him to lead her to the library. Well done, Roger, she giggled to herself.

The library, on Roger’s instructions to the servants, was only dimly lit, but the candles on the mantelpiece highlighted the lovely painting of a beautiful elven princess. Roger stood behind Poppy as she stared up at it, and, placing his hands on her shoulders, he whispered breathily to her: “Look how beautiful she is, Poppy, but not as beautiful as you.”

Poppy turned into his embrace and he kissed her. Whilst he held her tightly to him and forced his tongue into her mouth and tangled his fingers in her glorious hair, she closed her eyes and thought hard about how it was affecting her. There were a number of pluses: she rather liked the feel of his muscled shoulders beneath her hands and she also liked the smell of his cologne. She seemed to be having an effect upon him because his breathing was becoming ragged and he was moaning a bit: this gave her an odd feeling of power. But, what she didn’t like was his aggressive attack upon her lips – it was not the gentle, romantic kiss that she had imagined. And his strength was a bit frightening.

Roger, unaware of her response, was getting quite carried away by his passions. He was enjoying the sensations that she was arousing in him but his body was telling him that he wanted more. He had only intended to lure Poppy into the library for a bit of a kiss but, now that they were alone, in semi-darkness, it seemed like a waste of an opportunity.

Meanwhile, Thorin had finished a number of drinks and had got up to pace around the room. “I think, Barnaby,” he said finally, “that I’ll pop down to the party for a few minutes, just to see if everything is all right.” And before Waller could stop him, he was gone.

Downstairs, he lurked in the doorway and checked out the party room. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves but there was no sign of either Poppy or Roger. He knew it! He decided to investigate the library next.

Opening the door of the library quietly, he was not at all surprised to find Roger sprawled on the couch with his daughter underneath him. Thorin felt a moment of violence but he had faced this situation with Rose and Telbarad and, when he had confronted them, they had only laughed at him. And so, he decided to tackle it in a different way.

“Oh, hello, you two,” he said in an amiable voice (at which they both gasped, jumped to their feet and started to rearrange their clothing). “Don’t mind me. I’ve just come in for a quiet read.” And he went to a bookshelf, selected a book and sat down.

Roger and Poppy looked at each other aghast.

Thorin glanced up at them.

“The party’s still going strong,” he said. “Why don’t you both go and join the fun?”

And the young couple edged towards the door as quickly as possible, whilst Thorin grinned to himself. He was getting quite good at this thwarting business, he thought.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

Thorin and Poppy were pretty quiet on their way back to the forge the next day. Thorin didn’t want to get involved in an argument and Poppy had a lot to think about.

The previous night had only gone partly as she had intended. Yes, she had achieved closer contact with Roger but she was unhappy about how far it had gone. She had wanted to kiss Roger so that she could ascertain what her feelings for him were, but those moments in the library had confused her and she now wasn’t sure what to think.

The pleasure she had got out of his kisses had been limited. She had not been swept along on a tide of love or passion, so she supposed that this proved what she had already guessed – that Roger was only a good friend. But she had enjoyed the feeling of power that those moments had given her and she idly wondered if a life with Roger would be acceptable if she knew that she could have him at her feet. The trouble was, this feeling of power had suddenly faded as Roger’s own physical strength began to show itself and he became the one to take control. It had got just a little bit frightening on that sofa and, although she hated to admit it, she had been relieved when her father had walked into the room.

“He always comes!” had been a popular saying in the family for years now and she had never been more glad that Thorin had come last night.

Well, thought Poppy, her manipulative skills were excellent and she was sure that, if she married Roger, she would soon learn to control those displays of passion she had experienced in the library. But, did she want to marry Roger? And was it worth the prize of a big house, a doting family and financial security? The answer might just be yes. But, her next move was to explore the possibility of a relationship with Lostwithiel.

She thought about Lostwithiel and she smiled. He was the dearest person. He had always been so kind to her and he had always been there. He was one of the best-looking people she had ever met, possibly even better-looking than her handsome father, who, she had always thought, was a hard act to follow. She apparently could do no wrong in Lostwithiel’s eyes – and that was how she liked it. They had a very tactile relationship. She was always hanging on his arm and pecking him on the cheek and sitting on his lap. But, it was a child’s relationship at the moment and she wanted to be taken in his arms and to be kissed on the lips. She somehow knew that both his kisses and her response would be different from the experience she had had with Roger and she was planning on giving it a trial.

“Can we all go up to the outpost when mother goes next week?” she asked. “I’d really like to see Arion. And I wouldn’t mind a bit of sword practice with the men,” she added.

“I don’t see why not,” said Thorin, feeling happy that she wanted to improve her fighting skills, “and I’m always pleased to have an excuse to see my son.” And the last leg of the journey was passed quite pleasantly.

Tauriel was there to welcome them home and she wanted to hear all the details of the party: who was there, what Poppy had worn, how she had done her hair. Thorin didn’t mention the incident in the library and Poppy was relieved about that.

But, of course, once they were in bed together, Thorin told Tauriel the whole story.

“I think she’s after him,” said Thorin. “All that wealth and luxury really seem to appeal to her. And I think that Roger and his father both think it’s a pretty good idea too.”

“I think you’re right,” agreed his wife. “And I suppose the marriage could work. Roger and Barnaby are nice people and they’ve always seemed so fond of Poppy.”

“Roger was acting a bit more than just fond,” snorted Thorin, “when I found them together on the sofa. I don’t know how I restrained myself.”

Tauriel kissed him on the nose and giggled. “No, I can’t imagine you restraining yourself either,” she laughed. “I don’t see much restraint in this bed.”

“And after three days without you,” Thorin murmured, “I think I used up all my self-control in Waller’s house. Time to make up for it, I think.”

.o00o. 

Just under a week later, the three of them set off for the outpost. Poppy was quietly laying plans and Thorin and Tauriel had no idea what was going on in her head. When she had been very small and Rose had married Telbarad, she had declared loudly that she would marry Lostwithiel instead. Everyone had laughed at her and had thought that she was only trying to comfort her favourite person, but no-one had thought any more of it. Thorin would have been appalled if he had known that Poppy was lining up the elf-lord as possible husband material. Six or seven years ago, he had manipulated the situation to give Rose a chance with Lostwithiel but, when she had married Telbarad instead, he had realised how relieved he was. No, the elf was definitely not a husband he would choose for Poppy.

But, as they rode happily up to the farmhouse, no such suspicions were there to oppress him. The troop was pleased to see them as usual, Arion in particular. He loved his job and his comrades but, now that Warg and Dog and Rose were gone and he only saw the rest of his family every week or so, he sometimes felt a little lonely.

The elves responsible for the cooking that night served up a feast and they all sat around the kitchen table eating, drinking, laughing and having fun. Poppy slid along the bench and slipped herself under Lostwithiel’s arm, a position she often took up. No-one thought this unusual. Poppy snuggled up to him and Lostwithiel gave her a casual, brotherly hug. Hmmm, well, thought Poppy. Things would be changing pretty soon.

As the evening wore on, some of the elves, including Arion, set off on night patrol and others went to bed. Thorin and Tauriel were tired and, as they made their exit, Thorin turned to Poppy who was still sitting in the middle of a small group, and said, “No more than half an hour and then I want you to go to bed.” She nodded her agreement and Thorin was satisfied. She usually behaved herself at the farmhouse because she didn’t want to be told off like a child in front of the troop. But, she hung on in the kitchen until only she and Lostwithiel were left chatting together.

“Isn’t it time for you to go?” he grinned. “Or Thorin will lose his temper with you and I shall be in trouble for keeping you up.”

She held her face up to him. “Well, I think a goodnight kiss would help me on my way,” she smiled.

Lostwithiel bent his head to kiss her cheek but she slipped her hand behind his neck and brought his lips down on hers and then kissed him full on the mouth.

Lostwithiel was startled, shocked even. He didn’t respond but didn’t pull away. She finished the kiss and then stood up with a saucy grin and tripped lightly out of the room to her guest quarters next to the stables. The elf lord sat in the kitchen for a few minutes and then went upstairs and lay down upon his bed to have a think because he had not seen this coming and he wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

Like all elves and dwarves before their betrothal, he was still a virgin in spite of his advanced years, and his experience with love was very limited. There had been Tauriel and there had been Challis and there had been Rose. And that was it. These moments of love had happened all of a sudden, in a clump, ever since his arrival in Ered Luin. Perhaps it was a sign that he was searching for something more than what he had had before. 

His experience with Tauriel had been very strange. He had known her for hundreds of years in Mirkwood without feeling anything more than a vague friendship for her and then she had married Thorin and things had changed. It had made him think about - stuff. And that stuff had stirred him up a bit. It wasn’t helped by the gossip that was running around behind people’s hands – the lascivious insinuations, the unpleasant jokes and the lewd wonderings about what went on in Thorin and Tauriel’s bed. And then they were thrown together when she was put in charge of the outpost. His opinion of her morals was so low by then that he had decided to take advantage of her and in a moment of utter folly had clumsily forced himself upon her. And what a mess he had made of it! And she had been decent enough to forgive him – even to laugh at it. And she had been a good friend and captain ever since, inviting him into her home, making him a part of her family. And even Thorin seemed to have put the incident behind him. And yet he still wasn’t sure how he felt about Tauriel. She was a wonderful, beautiful, gifted person and he thought that he loved her a little. But it was a love that had to be tucked away in the recesses of his heart because she obviously loved Thorin and would never love anyone else.

And then Challis had arrived on the scene – a completely new face. In looks, she resembled Tauriel and, before he knew it, he was smitten. Was it because she looked like Tauriel? Well, he would never know now because she had chosen Lithin.

This was one of the problems, really, of being immortal. You had plenty of time to get to know practically every elf in Middle-earth. Faces and relationships became stale and it was difficult to imagine being married to any of them. That was why he had been taken with Challis, perhaps, because she was from distant Lothlorien. He really ought to go on a visit there to see if any other unfamiliar face took his fancy.

And the other problem with immortality was that, when you mixed with those who were not immortal, you saw them born, grow up, grow old and die. And it was truly weird to fall in love with someone who was going through a process that just didn’t happen to elves. And so, one day, he had turned around, and the child, Rose, was a beautiful woman. He had fought to win her hand but had lost out there too. And she was someone else who was linked to Tauriel. He had begun to suspect his own motives.

And, on top of everything, Tauriel’s daughter had kissed him. What was going on between him and the Oakenshield family? Here was another beautiful creature whom he was now seeing in a different light in only the blink of an eye. He knew he was a rather sad and lonely being and he felt that cracks were opening up about his heart the longer he went without someone to love or someone to love him. And it worried him that he seemed to be using this family as some sort of comfort blanket.

He went to his window and saw that Poppy’s light was still on. He had to know and so he went downstairs and crossed the yard and knocked on her door. She opened the door immediately and she had obviously been waiting up for him. She gestured him inside and he walked into the room.

They stood facing each other for a moment and then he said: “So, tell me, what was that all about?”

She looked up at him coyly through her long eyelashes. “I just wanted to kiss you. Didn’t you enjoy it?”

He thought for a moment and then said, “No, I don’t think I did. It came out of the blue and it’s confused me.”

“Poor ‘Thiel,” she said softly. “There’s nothing to be confused about. I just think I feel more for you than friendship.” And she reached up and stroked his cheek. “So,” she continued, “What do you think you feel for me?”

“I don’t know any more,” he replied.

“Then kiss me again,” she said and she lifted up her lips.

For a moment he hesitated and then he kissed her. And it was just as Poppy had imagined - soft and tender and with the first indications of love. He didn’t pounce upon her like Roger, nor did he grapple her to the bed or try to fumble her; but his arms encircled her and held her gently and she wanted the kiss to continue.

But, with a sigh, he stood away from her. “Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning after breakfast,” he said, “and let’s talk about it.” Then he went back to his own room leaving Poppy to think that things were coming along nicely.

 

.o00o.

Pt IV 

The next morning, Poppy had breakfast and was out of the farmhouse with Lostwithiel before her parents were up. “Where shall we go?” she asked. It was a beautiful day and the sky was very clear. She was very much looking forward to a romantic walk through the dappled shade of this lovely, hilly area.

“How about the waterfall?” he suggested. 

Ah, thought Poppy, an idyllic spot for their tryst and she nodded in agreement.

They set off hand in hand, as they often walked, but this time it felt different and they were both very aware of the touch, the warmth, the pressure of each other’s grasp. There was a beaten track up to this favourite picnic spot which was only a mile away. “We shouldn’t go too far,” said Lostwithiel. “It might be dangerous.”

Soon, they encountered a wide and fast-flowing stream that tumbled down from the hills. It was very picturesque and they walked in silence for a while appreciating their surroundings.

At last, the elf lord started up the conversation: “I’ve been awake half the night, Poppy, thinking about things and I’m finding it quite difficult to get my thoughts in order.”

She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze and so he continued: “For more than twenty years now, I’ve had a lot to do with your family, Poppy, even before you were born. You’re all very important to me and you know that you, in particular, have a very special place in my heart.”

“And you in mine,” she said.

He blushed a little at this, then carried on. “Your mother is beautiful and wonderful, as is Rose, as are you. I love you all. But the question is: do I feel more passionately about you than I do about your mother and your sister?”

“Well, do you?” she asked.

“Up until the moment you kissed me last night, I would have said ‘no’, but since that kiss, I have begun to wonder.”

“Oh, good,” laughed Poppy, winding her arm around his waist and hugging him. “I’m glad about that. You’re going in the right direction, ‘Thiel.”

“And now, looking back,” he continued, “I think I had started to feel about you differently even when you were only fourteen and I thought you were dying.....The pain.....” And he faltered. “That kiss last night just brought things to a head and has possibly opened my eyes a little.”

They had reached the waterfall by now. It was high and slender and came rushing over a cliff edge and fed the powerful stream. As the water rushed along the river-bed, it reached a choke point locally known as Lover’s Leap because, when you stood on one rocky ledge, it appeared such a short gap to the ledge on the other side that, with a bit of effort, it seemed easy enough to jump it. The water was like a cauldron at this point as it forced its way through the narrow channel. It churned and boiled and Poppy remembered how excited she had felt when Lostwithiel had first brought her here as a child.

“I think I could jump that,” she had said.

“Oh, no, you couldn’t,” the elf had laughed. “It’s called Lover’s Leap because the story has it that a fit young man tried to leap over it so that he could reach the girl he loved but he fell in and was drowned.” But Poppy had insisted on standing very close to the edge and he had wrapped her hair around his fist as she stood and peered into the foaming water racing through the gap.

“Do you remember?” she asked him, laughing up at him.

“Do I?” he groaned. “You were always determined to get your way.”

And she slid her hands up to his shoulders and said softly, “Well, then, just give me my way in this matter and kiss me again.”

And she looked so pretty that he couldn’t resist her.

.o00o.

When Thorin got up that morning, he couldn’t find Poppy anywhere. She was not in the kitchen nor in her guest room but, as he returned across the yard, he bumped into Rostrel coming out of the stables with his horse.

“Have you seen Poppy?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I saw her with Lostwithiel about half an hour ago and they were climbing the track to the waterfall.”

Then Rostrel shuffled his feet a bit and added: “I don’t know if I should mention this, but I saw him coming out of her room late last night and it – concerned me.” But when the elf saw Thorin’s eyes suddenly flare up, he wished he hadn’t mentioned it after all and so he mounted his horse quickly and rode away before he was embroiled in something he had no wish to be embroiled in.

Thorin stood in the yard stunned for a moment. Poppy and Lostwithiel! Why hadn’t he suspected anything? First Roger, now the elf! What was that naughty daughter of his up to? And he could feel his anger rising at both of them. He hastened up the track to the picnic spot and the further he walked, the more his anger grew.

Poppy, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying herself. She was in the middle of confirming that she was, indeed, in love with Lostwithiel and not with Roger. He was holding her tightly in his arms and yet she wasn’t afraid. She sensed that she only had to say the word and he would let her go and it pleased her to feel in control. His kisses were gentle but very sensuous and she didn’t want him to stop. In fact, she was beginning to understand why Roger had wanted more. And she was just on the verge of offering Lostwithiel more – even though she only had a vague idea of what “more” was - when her father walked into the clearing looking like a thundercloud.

Poppy saw Thorin out of the corner of her eye and gave the elf lord a warning squeeze before pulling her lips away from his. Lostwithiel turned his head and saw Thorin standing there looking for all the world as if he were ready to throttle him, just like on that night when he had confessed to him about the incident with Tauriel, and his heart sank. He put up his hand defensively and said, “Hold your horses, Thorin, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“How can it be less bad than it looks,” snarled Thorin, “a VERY old elf lord kissing my sixteen year old daughter in a secluded spot. I trusted you, Lostwithiel!” he said and he came stalking towards them across the glade.

Poppy had always been able to manage her father and she didn’t doubt that she could this time. “Oh, father,” she said, “stepping in front of Lostwithiel, “now stop being silly. We’re only kissing.”

But this remark reminded him so much of what Rose had said to him when he had caught her with Telbarad – and look at how that had turned out! – that it enraged him even more. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake and back down this time.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Poppy,” he snapped. “I’m sure that you’ve had a hand in this too! And after I found you with Roger the other night, I thought you had learned a lesson!”

“Roger?!” exclaimed Lostwithiel, looking at her in surprise, and Poppy felt an urge to gag her father to stop him from saying any more. How could he? She was sure he was doing this deliberately in order to ruin her chances with the person she loved.

“Yes, Roger!” continued Thorin, his fury mounting. “She’s taking you for a fool, Lostwithiel! And you are a fool too – always have been! You’d be surprised what I caught them up to at his party only a couple of nights ago.”

Lostwithiel turned large, hurt eyes upon her. “So, all that, you know, all that kissing and – what you said – it was all a bit of fun to you?” Poppy tried to take his hands but he pulled them away.

“Don’t listen to my father,” she cried. “He just doesn’t understand.”

“Of course I understand you, Poppy,” sneered Thorin. “You’ve wrapped me around your little finger all these years so I know what’s it’s like to be manipulated by you!”

She put her hands over her ears and cried, “Stop it, father!”

But, all the suppressed anger, associated with being led a merry dance by his daughter for years and being tricked by Rose and being defied by Arion came pouring out of him. He loved them and had done everything for them and they had given him nothing in return except a hard time. Or at least that’s how it appeared at that precise moment.

The tears began to pour down Poppy’s face but this only increased his fury.

“That’s right, turn on the water taps. That’s how women always get their way, isn’t it? But it won’t work with me any more, young lady. You’re coming back to the farmhouse right now!” And he moved forward to seize her wrist.

Poppy felt as though she really hated him at that moment. “Get away from me!” she yelled. “I’m not coming back with you!” And she wiped the tears from her eyes with her hand.

“And where else are you thinking of going?” growled Thorin.

“I don’t know,” she retorted, “but I’m not coming with you.” And, as he made another movement towards her, she turned and ran.

“Come back,” Thorin roared. “Come back this minute.” And he ran after her.

Lostwithiel had been standing there feeling stunned both by the news about Roger and by the violent exchange between father and daughter he had just witnessed. But, now he started running too when he saw where Poppy was heading.

“She’s making for the Leap!” he yelled to Thorin and, in a shocked moment, the dwarf realised that this was so. In a split second, all his anger drained from him and, instead, he knew fear.

Poppy was running blindly for the choke point in the river and when she got there, she didn’t hesitate, but flung herself across. Both elf and dwarf held their breath and, for a moment, they thought that she had made it as her foot touched the rock on the far side. But it was wet from the spray and she slipped, lost her balance and fell backwards into the water. Thorin and Lostwithiel stood appalled on the river bank. She had disappeared from view as the raging currents dragged her under and kept her under. Thorin, seething with guilt, went to dive in after her but Lostwithiel seized his arm. “Wait!” he said. And he was right because suddenly the currents released their grip and she was tossed to the surface and swept downstream.

They both pursued her, trying to get ahead of her, but the river bank was rocky and blocked by bushes, Slowly, the gap between them began to open and Thorin and Lostwithiel were filled with despair. The hills rose up more and more steeply either side of the river and their progress was becoming even slower. She was nearly out of sight, somehow managing to keep her head above water, but Thorin knew that she only had to be dashed against one of the large boulders that littered her path and she would be gone.

Then suddenly, in what was almost an action replay for the elf, a huge white streak shot down from the ridge, plunged into the water and seized Poppy by her long, trailing hair. “Warg!” they both shouted. And the stunned relief in their voices was almost palpable.

Warg dragged her to the bank and set her there tenderly. Thorin and Lostwithiel ran forward, shouting his name with joy. But the creature looked up at them for a moment, licked Poppy’s pale cheek and then, with only a momentary hesitation, turned and was gone.

All their attention was on Poppy then. They turned her over and pumped the water out of her lungs until she coughed and spluttered and revived. The elf lord wrapped her in his cloak and then, together, they carried her down to the farmhouse.

.o00o. 

Thorin and Lostwithiel didn’t talk as they came down the hill; they were too distraught. Thorin was also thinking ahead to when he would have to explain things to Tauriel. And as they neared the farmhouse, they could see Tauriel looking for them in the yard. Her eyes widened in fear at their approach but the elf waved his arms and shouted that everyone was safe. They took Poppy to her bedroom and left her in the care of Tauriel and Challis who stripped her off and wrapped her in dry clothes and then tucked her in. Thorin and Lostwithiel sat outside, drooping and exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” said Thorin.

“No, I’m sorry,” said Lostwithiel.

And they sat in silence until Tauriel came out. “She’s asleep,” she said. “And now I want you both to come to the kitchen and tell me exactly what happened.”

The other elves sensed that they wanted privacy and left them to it.

“Thorin?” said Tauriel, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, um, I suddenly discovered this morning that Poppy and Lostwithiel had started some kind of – um – relationship.”

“There was no relationship,” Lostwithiel protested.

“Shush,” said Tauriel. “You’ll get your turn.”

“They had been seen going up to the waterfall together and so I followed them and got myself into – um – a bit of a bad temper,” Thorin continued, looking very guilty. “And, when I found them kissing up there, I had a bit – a bit of a shout. And Poppy got upset and ran away and tried to jump the Leap. She fell into the water and we couldn’t reach her. She nearly drowned but Warg saved her.”

“Warg!” exclaimed Tauriel. “But where is he?”

“We don’t know,” said Lostwithiel. “He just disappeared.”

“And your version?” said Tauriel turning to the elf lord. It was now his turn to look uncomfortable and miserable.

“Well, you know how I’ve always loved all of you....” the elf started.

“Including my wife,” snorted Thorin.

“ALL of you,” insisted the elf, looking pointedly at Thorin. “I’d always thought that my feelings for Poppy were no different from what I felt for the rest of this family, but, yesterday, she suddenly kissed me – right out of the blue. I felt really confused about it and I went to her room last night and we arranged to go up to the waterfall so that we could talk about our feelings for each other..... And that’s about it.”

“No, it’s not,” growled Thorin. “What did you both decide about your feelings?”

“Well,” said Lostwithiel, looking embarrassed, “I had just got to the point of deciding that I DID have feelings for her when you interrupted. And then you mentioned Roger and now I feel confused again.”

“Do you want to hear what I think?” asked Tauriel.

“Yes,” they chorused. Tauriel always knew what was what.

“I think that Poppy is trying to work out which of you she’d rather marry. I think she may love you, Lostwithiel,” and the elf looked very pleased with this conclusion, “but I think she is very drawn to the life of comfort and ease that Roger can offer her.” And Lostwithiel looked downcast.

“But,” she continued, “she had no right to lead either of you on like this and I can understand, Thorin, why you lost your temper. But everything will just have to go on hold for the moment because, although Poppy is the type of girl to marry early, I still think she’s too young and I don’t give either you, Lostwithiel, or Roger my permission to court her yet. She needs time to think.”

Thorin and Lostwithiel nodded. Tauriel was always more than fair in her conclusions. “Come on,” she said, patting them both on the shoulder. “I’ll make you a nice, hot drink.”

At that moment, Arion came hurtling into the kitchen, his eyes alight. “The men say you’ve seen Warg,” he gasped.

And they told him all the details of their encounter. They thought he would be miserable that Warg had not come home but Arion was only glad that his pet was still alive. “He’s up there in the hills somewhere and he’s keeping his eye on us,” he said; and he went off whistling.

.o00o.

When Poppy woke up from her sleep, she asked to see her father and Lostwithiel and then she wept and hugged them and said how sorry she was for being so stupid. “Yet another stupid dwarf in the family,” she said. But everyone forgave everyone and Tauriel gave her verdict and Poppy was quite relieved that she didn’t have to make up her mind just yet, because it was a very complicated decision.

That night, Challis volunteered to sleep on a bed roll in her room and Thorin and Tauriel finally climbed into their own narrow cot together.

“When we decided to have children,” Thorin sighed, “I had no idea it was going to be so difficult.”

Tauriel put her arms around him and kissed him. “But you have really risen to the occasion and you’ve been a wonderful father,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said. “I feel such a failure on days like this.”

“And you’re also a wonderful husband,” she added, breathing hotly on his neck. Thorin grinned. His bad day was going to finish in a pretty good night; he could see it coming.

“In what way, my love?” he asked huskily.

“Well,” she said, trying not to laugh, “you’re very good at washing up.”

“And?” he said.

“You grow pretty good vegetables.”

“And?” he asked again.

“You don’t mind scrubbing the kitchen floor.”

“And? Surely there’s something more important?” he said, nuzzling her neck.

“Well, you are quite good in bed,” she said, giggling.

“Only ‘quite’?” he said indignantly.

“All right: VERY good in bed,” she conceded. “Are you satisfied?”

“How can I ever be satisfied when I’m lying next to the most beautiful creature on Middle-earth?” he murmured. “I shall never be satisfied. But I’m determined to try,” he sighed, “even if it takes me all night.”

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Fosterchild. Thorin’s children have nearly all fled the nest. Could he face looking after another needy little girl – or is he past it?


	24. Thorin and the Fosterchild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Tauriel will soon be the proud owners of an empty nest! This comes after Tauriel has told Roger and Lostwithiel not to court Poppy for a whole year. But, just as I thought I was getting close to the end of these stories, (but, as things turned out, I wasn’t, LOL), I introduce a new character. What are you doing, I hear you say? Well, I’m trying to tie up a few loose ends. Plus we also get to see a little of Rose and Telbarad’s private life which will then be the main theme of next week’s story.

Thorin and the Fosterchild

Pt I

Thorin was lying in bed with Tauriel and thinking about their future together. Soon, he knew, Poppy would want to discuss her own future, perhaps with Roger or Lostwithiel. In the end, another man would take her away from him and, then, all his children would be gone. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He grinned and rolled over towards Tauriel’s sleeping form, snuggling into her. Well, if he didn’t feel in the mood to get up, but preferred to stay in bed a bit longer with his wife, then he could - if there weren’t any children to get up and make breakfast for. He sighed at the luxury of the thought. Yes, he really missed Rose and Arion and he was sure he would miss Poppy too, but being left with an empty nest had its compensations.

He nuzzled Tauriel’s neck and she turned sleepily into his arms. Was there time, he thought? Nope. He could hear Poppy stirring. He groaned and, giving Tauriel a parting kiss, he struggled out of bed. Tauriel opened one eye. “Make me a nice, hot cup of tea, please,” she said. Well, he had kept her up half the night and he supposed she deserved one, he thought. And he staggered off to the kitchen.

Poppy was giving him a hand when they heard horses in the yard. She peered out the window and screamed with delight. “It’s Rose!” she yelled. Tauriel came running from her bedroom clutching a robe about her just as Poppy flung open the door. There in the yard were Rose and Telbarad and, sitting in front of Telbarad on his saddle-bow was a little girl. They all stopped and blinked.

“You haven’t been having babies behind our backs, have you, Rose?” Thorin laughed.

“Well, you know how much you like surprises,” Rose grinned in return. And, for a moment, they all wondered if she were joking or not. Rose dismounted and then lifted the little girl down. Her husband dismounted next and the child clutched his hand. 

“She prefers men,” he smiled.

“Now, that’s a sign of good taste,” said Thorin.

They stabled the horses and then entered the house. Poppy dug around and found some of her old toys, then sat down on the floor and played with the child whilst the others chatted quietly together. “Her name’s Emily,” said Telbarad and then he fell silent.

Tauriel looked at Rose for a further explanation. “She’s five and her father was a Ranger,” said Rose. Tauriel noticed the past tense. “Her mother died when she was born and she should have been sent somewhere like Rivendell. But her father, Orondis, refused to let her go and has been dragging her around the camps of the North ever since.”

“We all tried to help,” added Telbarad. “She’s a tough little thing.” And he smiled across at her.

“What happened to Orondis?” asked Thorin.

“He was killed in a battle with the orcs a few weeks ago,” supplied Telbarad. He paused again. “He was my best friend.”

“And now we don’t know what to do,” said Rose, “so we thought we would come and discuss it with you two.”

Thorin felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“We’ve got a number of choices,” said Telbarad. “We could continue to look after her amongst ourselves, passing her from hand to hand. But we never actually approved of Orondis keeping her in the North, so we don’t really see that as an option.”

“Or we could take her to Rivendell to be looked after by the elves,” continued Rose. Thorin rolled up his eyes at the thought of the poor child’s fate and both Tauriel and Poppy dug him in the ribs.

“Or we could find her a foster family,” Rose added, looking straight at her father. But Thorin deflected the thought with a slight movement of his hand.

“Doesn’t she make you think of Poppy?” Rose asked. And Thorin looked at the pretty, golden-haired child and decided that she did. And that was the problem. Could he really face bringing up another child like Poppy? His daughter had been hard work and had led him a merry dance. Now, his life with Tauriel was about to begin all over again and Rose was suggesting that they put things on hold.

But Tauriel had a silly smile on her face and she reached across to Thorin and touched his hand. “Poor little thing,” she said. “Let’s go for a bit of a walk, my love.” And she took him down to the river whilst Poppy got their guests some breakfast.

“I know what you’re going to say, Tauriel,” said Thorin, with a warning note in his voice. “But I don’t think I want to do it. Soon, it will be just you and me again and I’m looking forward to it.”

“But, what is life for?” she asked pleadingly.

“Well, it’s not to spend it looking after other people’s children,” he said grumpily.

“And what about Rose?” she asked. “Aren’t you glad you brought her home? Isn’t she one of the best things ever to happen in your life?”

Thorin fidgeted. “Yes, Rose has been a wonderful addition to this family and I’ve never once regretted her presence. But.....I’m getting older,” he said quietly. “You will live forever, but I won’t and I want to spend at least part of my life just with you.”

Tauriel understood. She slipped her arms around his waist and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I’m being selfish,” she said. “Let’s go and explain to them that we don’t feel we can do this.” And she walked with him back to the house.

Rose and Telbarad looked up hopefully as they entered the room. “We’ve come to a decision,” said Tauriel.

“Yes,” said Thorin, taking a deep breath, “we’d like to give it a try and see how it works out.”

Rose clapped her hands and Tauriel stood there with her mouth open. “But....” she said.

Thorin pulled a face. “I won’t be able to live with myself,” he muttered, “if she grows up without a family. I don’t think I can consign her to a load of elves.”

.o00o.

Rose went to bed that night feeling very satisfied. Everything had gone as she had planned. Thorin might feel a bit grumpy initially about a new child in the family but she had been concerned that Poppy would doubtless be leaving home in the not too distant future and she didn’t want either of her parents to feel lonely.

“But, perhaps they want to be on their own once more,” Telbarad had said.

Rose snorted, confident that she understood her adoptive father.

“Thorin thrives on being given the run around by his children,” she laughed. “I don’t know what he’ll do with himself once Poppy is gone. And Tauriel always longed to have more than just the three of us. They are both extraordinarily good parents.” And she unpacked their gear in the guest suite, totally confident in her opinion on the matter. But Telbarad wasn’t so sure.

However, the big plus about this trip, Telbarad thought, was the lovely, soft feather mattress on the bed. “Look,” he said, patting the coverlet, “a real bed at last.” And he grinned across at Rose and, stripping off his clothes at surprising speed, jumped between the sheets. He leaned there on his elbow and looked suggestively up at his wife. “Let’s try it out,” he said. 

He waited for her to fall laughing into his arms but, instead, she changed into a nightgown, walked slowly to the cupboard and pulled out a spare pillow. Then she returned to the bed and placed it in the middle of the mattress. Once she had got in, the pillow lay like a barrier between them.

“What’s all this about?” said the Ranger, frowning.

Rose looked guilty. “I forgot to bring my fennel draught,” she said, “and I don’t want to succumb to temptation. I thought the pillow might help……..Both of us,” she added.

Telbarad was normally a calm and reasonable person. But an irritated flicker passed fleetingly across his face that made him look like Thorin having a very grumpy moment, thought Rose.

“Well, it definitely doesn’t help me,” he said curtly and he flung the pillow out of bed and pulled Rose into his arms.

But Rose pushed him away and turned her back on him. “You know I don’t want to get pregnant yet,” she said. “We’ve been so careful. I really am sorry I forgot to bring the fennel but, without it, the risk we take dramatically increases.”

Telbarad pressed himself against her back and ran his lips across her neck. “Perhaps it’s time for a baby,” he said. “Looking after Emily has made me feel quite broody.” And he edged down her nightgown at the neck a little and began to kiss her shoulder.

She turned to face him and Telbarad, taking this as a sign of acquiescence, began to undo some of the buttons. But she took him firmly by the wrist and stopped him. “Think about it, my love,” she said. “A moment’s pleasure and we might be separated for years whilst I bring a child up in Rivendell.”

“Well, perhaps you could move in with your parents here at the forge,” he murmured, managing to undo a few more buttons with his other hand. “That would keep you closer.”

Rose seized his other hand as well: “And I thought it was you who reckoned that Thorin and Tauriel want some time together once their children have left home,” she snorted. “This is something we would need to discuss with them before an unplanned pregnancy.”

His wrists were pinioned but he laughed and, bending forward, used his lips to reach as many sensitive places as possible. “I promise that the very first thing I do tomorrow morning,” he murmured, “is to go out and find some fennel. I’ll make it a priority.”

Rose sighed and, letting go of his wrists, wrapped him in her arms. “Promise?” she said.

“Promise,” he responded. “And now,” he continued, grabbing her nightgown by its hem, “can you please take this wretched thing off!” 

Pt II

Rose and Telbarad had stayed for a couple of days, just until Emily had settled in. Poppy was delighted with this new toy. If only her parents had managed to have more children after her, then life would have been so much more fun. She would no longer have been the youngest and she would have had a sibling to boss around. She spent a lot of time in her bedroom with Emily, digging out a load of old clothes, dressing her up and tying ribbons in her hair as if she were a doll.

In the end, Emily overcame her shyness and told her that she didn’t enjoy the game. She was much more into wearing boy’s clothes and climbing trees and catching fish and standing on her head. And, although Emily looked very much like Poppy had done as a child with her bouncy, golden curls, her interests and temperament were totally different and Poppy began to get a bit bored with playing games of high adventure, battling orcs on the northern frontier, and Emily found herself often left to her own devices whilst Poppy made herself beautiful.

Tauriel tried to keep Emily occupied by inviting her to help her out with cooking and household chores, but Emily wasn’t interested in that either. So, Tauriel found Arion’s old set of elven and orcish soldiers and these hit the right note: after that, she spent a lot of time setting out her armies, just like Arion had done. “I’m going to be a Ranger when I grow up,” she said. And Tauriel could well believe it.

Whenever Thorin was in the room, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. If he turned around too quickly, he would trip over her. She was missing her father very much and Thorin was her substitute. In the end, just to keep her out from underneath Tauriel’s feet, he allowed her to sit in a corner of the forge and watch him at work. It wasn’t that she was interested in being a smith like Rose had been: she just liked being with a man and she enjoyed the masculine nature of the forge.

When he had a bit of spare time, Thorin would watch her whilst she climbed trees, standing at the base of the trunk, ready to catch her if she fell. But she never did. It was amazing to see her scramble around in the branches, as sure-footed as a cat and Thorin gave her a nickname. “Come on down, Cat,” he would say. “Time for tea.” And, in the end, the name caught on with everyone. 

They would also sit on the riverbank, fishing together, and sometimes he would try to improve her swimming. If she wanted to show off, she would somersault and cartwheel and stand on her head, much to everyone’s amusement and Thorin asked how she had learned to perform these tricks. “My father taught me,” she said, and then she went quiet for an hour whilst she remembered him.

When Thorin tried to console her by giving her a hug, she pushed his arm away and said that her father had been a soldier and that soldiers sometimes got killed. Rose had said she was a tough little thing and she was, thought Thorin.

One weekend, they all went up to the outpost together to visit Arion and she really enjoyed that. It reminded her of the camps in the North and she also enjoyed watching the elves practise swordplay and archery together. Arion found his small dwarven bow that Beorn had given him long ago and he taught her how to shoot with it. He picked her up and whirled her around, making her scream with excitement. “It’s nice to have a new little sister,” he said. And he felt as though he was somehow making up for the lack of interest he had shown in Poppy.

Poppy, meanwhile, showed no jealousy. She was too busy flirting with Lostwithiel (when her father wasn’t looking) and when the elves showed admiration for Cat, she tossed back her head and smiled as if they were admiring something that belonged to her.

But Thorin was beginning to feel the weariness of becoming the father of a small child once more. He enjoyed Cat’s company but the years of responsibility stretched out before him as his life grew shorter and he begrudged the time he spent with her rather than with Tauriel.

“Am I just being mean and horrible?” he asked his wife.

“No,” she said. “You give so much of yourself that it’s not surprising that you sometimes feel tired.”

But she felt a bit worried occasionally and wished that Rose hadn’t dropped this unwanted and unexpected gift in their laps. 

.o00o.   
Pt III

Cat had been there a month when Tauriel decided that they should all go up again to the outpost together. The little girl was pleased and Thorin was also pleased that she enjoyed the company of Tauriel’s troop so much. The elves recognised a kindred spirit in the making and were always happy to see her.

He lifted her up upon his saddle-bow and they chatted together as they ambled up to the farmhouse.

“Did you enjoy living in the northern camps?” he asked.

Cat smiled and nodded happily. “All the Rangers used to play with me and they taught me all kinds of stuff. But,” she said, trying to look very grown up and serious, “I’m very good at playing on my own because Father told me that I should learn not to bother people when they’re busy.”

“So, tell me about your father,” the dwarf pursued.

The child smiled. “He was very handsome and very brave and very kind,” she said. “But he always told me that, if he got killed, then I wasn’t to cry but to remember all the times when we had fun together…….And be very good for the people who got to look after me.”

Then she looked up anxiously at him. “Have I been good?” she asked. Her father’s opinion was obviously still very important to her.

“Yes, very good,” said Thorin and she looked content.

At the outpost, they all had some food and then went about their business. Tauriel had paperwork to do and Thorin discussed battle tactics with three of the elves, including Arion. Half the troop were on patrol, others were out hunting and Lostwithiel had volunteered to stop behind and muck out the stables whilst they were vacated by the patrol.

“Would you take Cat out into the yard, Poppy,” asked Tauriel, “and play with her?”

Poppy nodded reluctantly and went with the child outside. Both of them played in a desultory way at first, not really enjoying the choice of each other’s games. Then Cat found a really interesting ants’ nest in the corner of the yard which she began to poke experimentally with a stick. She became totally absorbed and Poppy, growing increasingly bored, drifted over to the stables. Inside, she found Lostwithiel working very hard. His sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing his muscular neck and arms. He had already mucked out six of the horseboxes, had packed each with fresh, sweet-smelling hay and was now grooming his own horse, Starlight, a handsome cream-coloured animal with a golden mane.

Poppy wandered into the stable and came over to stroke Starlight’s mane. She looked seductively at Lostwithiel across the animal’s neck. The elf lord smiled warily back at her. He had promised Thorin and Tauriel that neither he nor Roger would court her for a year but, whenever she came up to the outpost, she always seemed to be flirting with him in quiet corners and it was proving very difficult to keep his promise.

“Hello, ‘Thiel,” she murmured and her hand slowly caressed the animal’s mane. Lostwithiel became absorbed by the movement of her hand. “His mane is the same colour as your hair, ‘Thiel,” she continued, “but I expect yours is a lot softer.” And she ducked under the horse’s head and reached up to touch the elf’s striking blond locks. But Lostwithiel backed away. “Sorry, Poppy,” he said, “but I promised your parents that I wouldn’t court you for another year – and you’re making it very hard.”

Poppy grinned. “This isn’t courting,” she said. “It’s only flirting.” And she batted her long golden eyelashes at him in amusement.

Lostwithiel turned to pack his grooming kit away and said nothing but she noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. Poppy went up behind him and slid her arms around his waist. The elf jumped and Poppy’s grin widened. It was just so boring being good, she thought, and obeying one’s parents in all things. She didn’t think she could hold out for a year and guessed that, if she pushed things, Lostwithiel wouldn’t be able to hold out either. She noticed that his neck was growing pink and she tightened her hold. The elf gasped and then turned in her arms.

“I’d rather that you didn’t do that, Poppy,” he said rather stiffly. “I made a promise and I’m trying to keep it.”

Poppy let out a little laugh and stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the chin. Lostwithiel flinched. “You’ve done such a good job in here, ‘Thiel,” she said. “And look at all that lovely hay. I expect it’s soft and comfortable.”

The elf’s eyes flickered out through the open door in the direction of the farmhouse. “Don’t worry about my parents,” she said. “They’ll be busy for hours yet.” And taking him by the hand, she led him into one of the horse-boxes and pulled him down upon a mound of hay.

Out in the yard, Cat had lost interest in the ants’ nest. She looked around herself and saw that she was alone. She didn’t mind. As she had explained to Thorin, she was very good at playing on her own. And so, at first she pretended that she was being pursued by a band of orcs. She wrapped the elven cloak that her father had given her tightly around herself – all the better for concealment – and then slid from shadow to shadow, hiding behind various objects like the big water-pump and a tree and a mounting block so that the orcs wouldn’t see her. Then she edged around the buildings and slipped behind the barn, peering out cautiously from time to time to check that none of the monsters were coming. 

From the back of the barn, she noticed with interest that she had a good view of the neighbouring flower-meadows and paddocks. On the far side of one of the fields she could see a bright splash of colour, denoting a vivid spray of wild flowers. She paused in her game and wondered if Tauriel would like some flowers to brighten up her office. Deciding that she would, she climbed the five-bar gate and trotted happily across the meadow.

But, once she reached the flowers, just as she bent to pick them, she found she had an even more interesting view of a pretty copse in the distance, across the rocky hillside. There were doubtless mushrooms growing in its shade and even berries and nuts. She had loved gathering the fruits of the forest with her father and could already distinguish which mushrooms were the poisonous ones. The elves would probably like to have some bits and pieces for their cooking pot and so, leaving the flowers for a moment, she set out for the wood. And, just in case the orcs decided to follow her, she did her best to step from rock to rock, disguising her trail, just as her father had taught her.

But in the wood, there were some really interesting trees and she suddenly noticed a large and ancient oak. She couldn’t resist it: she just had to have a climb. So climb it she did. But the tree was old and rotten and, half-way up, a branch broke and she fell, hitting her head on another branch on the way down. There was no Thorin to catch her and she landed with a thump in a deep pile of leaves at the base of the tree and her elven cloak covered her from view.

Back in the stables, a flushed Poppy and Lostwithiel were just picking themselves out of the hay. Well, that had been fun, thought Poppy. She totally trusted the elf in a way that she didn’t trust Roger and he had shown considerable self-control. But it had been a very enjoyable kiss and a cuddle. They brushed themselves down and picked the straw out of each other’s hair. “Better not leave any evidence,” grinned Lostwithiel, “or your father will have my guts for garters.”

And they went to the stable door and looked out surreptitiously. Suddenly Poppy gasped. “Where’s Cat?” she cried and they both dashed out to have a look around. When she was nowhere to be found, Poppy knew she had to confess and ran into the farmhouse to tell her parents. “I only took my eyes off her for a minute,” she wailed.

There was no time for recriminations. Thorin and Tauriel together with everyone left at the farmhouse ran off in all directions calling the little girl by name. They all used their tracking skills, but on the far side of the meadow, her trail seemed to go cold. After an hour, there was still no sign of her. Poppy burst into tears: “It’s all my fault,” she said.

“Let’s see if we can find her first,” said Thorin grimly, “before we decide to dish out any blame.” And the fruitless search continued.

They were just about to give up in despair when a loud howling came from a nearby wood. “It’s Warg!” yelled Arion and they dashed into its shade. Warg was standing at the base of a tree. He looked at them all as if they were the most stupid creatures on earth and then he bent and drew Cat’s cloak to one side with his teeth. They all shouted in delight. Warg gave them one last, almost contemptuous snort and loped away into the shadows.

Thorin bent over the child and examined her. “I think she’s only knocked herself unconscious,” he said with relief and he carried her back to the farmhouse. Arion walked next to Lostwithiel with a worried look on his face.

“Why so glum, young soldier?” asked the elf lord. “Your pet has saved the day for a second time within a couple of months.”

“Yes,” answered Arion despondently, “but perhaps he’ll only come to the rescue one more time and then I’ll never see him again. You know the old saying: third time pays for all.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need worry there, Arion,” the elf consoled him cheerfully, “because, unless it was one of the things you taught him, I don’t think wargs can count.” And they made their way laughing back across the meadow.

.o00o.

Pt IV 

Emily was in bed for a few days with a sore head before they took her home. Thorin was too tired to yell at Poppy and his daughter was upset enough anyway. He always hoped optimistically that such incidents had taught her a lesson. Lostwithiel and Poppy also kept their escapade in the stables carefully from him.

But, as he rode down from the hills to the forge, Thorin sighed to himself and wondered inwardly, yet again, if he was up to coping with a small child.

A week after their return home, it was time for him to visit the Grey Havens on commission work once more. “Can I come too?” asked Poppy. “I see Lostwithiel so regularly that it seems unfair to Roger if I don’t see him as well. In a year’s time, I just might be biased in ‘Thiel’s favour.” Thorin wasn’t quite sure that he wanted his daughter to show such a bias and so agreed to take her.

“But only if you two don’t go sneaking off on your own together,” he said.

No fear of that, thought Poppy. Being on her own with Roger was not what she was after because she couldn’t control him in the way that she could control the elf. But she thought it only fair that she saw both of them at regular intervals. She and her father had an open invitation to stay at Roger’s house any time they were in town and she loved the luxury there and the warmth and affection of Roger’s father.

But Tauriel had her usual weekly trip to the outpost and, rather than send for Dis, Thorin decided to take Cat into town with him too. She had never been to the Grey Havens and would probably enjoy the experience. Poppy crossed her heart and hoped to die if she lost sight of her foster sister this time and, besides, Roger’s mansion was stuffed with servants who would be prepared to help as well. 

Barnaby Waller’s welcome was as warm as ever but as he came bustling into the room with Roger and saw Cat standing there, he froze on the spot, stared at her for a few moments and then spun on his heel and dashed out of the room without a word.

Thorin was taken aback and wondered if he had done something wrong but Roger approached them wide-eyed : “She’s the spitting image of my little sister who died at about the same age,” he said. And he bent down and picked up Cat and grinned at her. They all knew about the sister and understood that this was partly why Barnaby was so fond of Poppy: she was a grown-up reminder of the child he had lost. But Cat had had more impact because she was the same age.

“Perhaps we’d better book rooms in the Silver Bear,” said Thorin worriedly. “I don’t want to upset your father.”

But, at that moment, Barnaby re-entered the room, blowing his nose and wiping his eyes. “No, I won’t hear of it,” he said. “It’s just me being a bit silly.” And he held his arms out to Cat and Roger passed her over. She was used to this pass the parcel because it had happened so frequently up in the camps but she really did seem to take to Barnaby and she gave him a sweet little smile and a kiss on the cheek because she could tell he was upset about something even if she hadn’t followed the exchange of the adults.

For the next hour, Barnaby wouldn’t let her go but carried her around his huge house showing her all the things that were to be seen. She had never been in such a mansion before and told him – much to his delight – that it was as beautiful as a fairy palace in one of her father’s stories. In the morning room, she saw a painting of his daughter hanging on the wall. She immediately homed in on it and said: “Oh, that little girl looks just like me.”

“Yes, doesn’t she?” replied Barnaby quietly.

He took her to his daughter’s old bedroom. No-one but his daughter had ever slept in it but, much to Roger’s amazement, Barnaby asked Cat if she would like it for her room whenever she stopped there. Cat was thrilled because it was every little girl’s dream – much the prettiest room she had ever seen. But when he opened the chest of old toys, she was not so thrilled because they were all a bit girlie.

“She’s a little toughie,” said Thorin. “She’s been brought up by mostly male Rangers and she’s got a boyish streak.” But this did not deter Barnaby. Instead, he took her to Roger’s old room and offered her the pick of Roger’s toys. He then sat down and watched her play with them, deriving much amusement from the process.

Later that evening, Cat showed him her cartwheels and stood on her head which entertained him even further. “And don’t let her anywhere near a tree without supervision,” whispered Thorin, “or she’ll be up it like a shot. She nearly killed herself the other day.” And, of course, Barnaby had to hear the whole story and tutted to himself that the Oakenshields should be so careless of such a precious child.

“It’s really weird,” said Roger to Poppy. “She may look a bit like my sister but, otherwise, she’s nothing like her. It’s amazing that he finds her so appealing, particularly since you could say that she’s rather like Rose – and he never approved of her.”

Roger was, of course, very pleased to see Poppy. He tried to steal a kiss now and again in one of the mansion’s many dark corridors, but Poppy always acted demurely and reminded him of his promise to her parents; and, at the thought of Thorin, he always drew back.

That night, Barnaby helped to put Cat to bed and told her stories until she fell asleep. He slipped out of her room humming quietly to himself and Roger hoped that this wouldn’t all end badly. Poppy was a very important young woman in Barnaby’s life and he was pushing hard for a marriage between her and his son and now he seemed to be fixating on this little girl too.

The rich merchant spent much of the following day in the company of the child. She found out in the end about his dead daughter and, to everyone’s surprise, she sat out in the garden with Barnaby in the shade of a tree, and asked him all about her: what was her favourite toy, what was the colour of her eyes, did they spend a lot of time together, what did they like to do, what stories did he tell her and, of course, did she like to climb trees?

Barnaby had not spoken about his daughter since she died but now he found himself unloading all his memories on this calm-eyed and interested little girl. And it gave him a good feeling. That afternoon, he disappeared for some hours and returned late in the day with a tiny white pony which he presented to Cat. She couldn’t believe that this nice gentleman was being so kind to her and she thanked him very much.

“Don’t spoil her,” said Thorin in an aside. “I made that mistake with Poppy.”

“I don’t think she can be spoiled,” said Barnaby. “Her personality already seems established and she has a very sweet nature.” And Thorin, thinking about things, had to agree.

The next day, Barnaby sat Cat on her new pony and paraded her around the town. Acquaintances waved or came up and greeted him and it gave him immense pleasure to show her off. But he also enjoyed taking her down to the quay where they sat quietly together and watched the ships come and go as they ate their sandwiches. She had never seen the sea or ships before and Cat was totally fascinated as Barnaby pointed out one of his own ships which had just come in.

“You OWN a ship?” she exclaimed wide-eyed, as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world. Barnaby was startled. No-one in his family had ever shown the slightest interest in his trading fleet – they were just a means of bringing in money. And he asked her if she would like to go on board the Nancy Sue and look around. And Cat reacted as if he had just offered to give her the most amazing thing ever.

And so it was with absolute delight that he conducted her around the ship. She was thrilled by everything – the tiny Captain’s cabin, the hammocks on the crew deck, the tables swinging from ropes so that food and drink would not spill, the folding but elegant furniture in the Captain’s dining room that could be packed away at a moment’s notice in a storm or during a battle. Everything pleased her. At the end of the tour, she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to be a Ranger or a sailor. They sat in the sun on the beach and watched the waves splashing on the shore. The white gulls wheeled and cried overhead. “I’ve had such a lovely day,” she said. And she gave him a hug.

Over the next month, they visited Barnaby every week. And, at the end of the month, Rose and Telbarad came riding up to the forge again. Rose looked at Cat and saw that she was flourishing. “Well?” she asked with a gleam in her eye.

“Well,” responded Thorin, “it’s not as simple as you might think.” And he told them both about Barnaby Waller.

Telbarad and Tauriel stayed at the forge while Rose and Thorin went to visit Barnaby. And the merchant told them without any hesitation that he wanted to adopt Cat. “And I’d like to apologise, my dear,” he said to Rose, “for always moaning about you because you weren’t like other girls. My Cat isn’t like other girls either and I’m very, very glad. Now I know why Thorin thinks the world of you.”

And then he and Roger travelled back to the forge with them and Thorin asked Cat if she would like to live with Barnaby and be his daughter. Cat cast Thorin a worried look and he knew why. He sat her on his lap and said: “You’re a wonderful little girl and Tauriel and I just want you to be happy and, if going to live with Barnaby and having him as your father would make you happy, then that’s what we want for you too. Don’t think that we shall be upset because you haven’t chosen us.” And he gave her a kiss. And Cat had to admit that she loved Barnaby and wanted to go and live with him and Roger. And everyone cried because things had all worked out so well.

A few days later, alone with just Poppy once more, Thorin and Tauriel fell into bed with a big sigh.

“Are you disappointed in any way, Thorin?” asked Tauriel. “Do you wish that she had chosen you?”

“Yes,” said Thorin, pulling a long face. “I’m feeling very, very rejected. I think I need a lot of kisses and a lot of hugs, not to mention a lot of you-know-what to aid my recovery.” And he pulled her into his arms.

Tauriel laughed. “You old fraud,” she said. “I don’t think you’re feeling rejected at all. I think you’re quite relieved, so I don’t believe you’re exactly in dire need of all these hugs and kisses and you-know-what!”

“I’m always in dire need,” grinned Thorin and he reached out and turned off the lamp.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Dilemma. Well, that fennel draught that Rose is taking sure is an effective contraceptive! But, what happens to a relationship when one partner wants children and the other one doesn’t?
> 
> As an aside, a type of giant fennel was used in ancient times to prevent pregnancies. It was so good and so sought after that the species was wiped out.


	25. Thorin and the Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story concerns the private problems that Rose and Telbarad let slip in the previous episode: Thorin and the Fosterchild. I’m sure you’d like to know just a little more about that particular issue! As an interesting side note: a form of fennel which grew in North Africa was used hundreds/thousands of years ago as a contraceptive. It was so effective and popular that the plant was exhausted and that particular variety no longer exists.

Thorin and the Dilemma  
Pt I

Arion was working hard up at the outpost. Poppy was spending a couple of days with her Aunt Dis. At the forge, Tauriel was sitting astride Thorin’s lap with a look of concentration on her face.

“Don’t tug too hard,” he said.

“No, I’m being careful,” she replied.

The elf had already stood behind him and brushed her husband’s hair – a job they both enjoyed. Thorin had closed his eyes and had wondered why it felt so sensuous when Tauriel did it in a way it never had done when he and his dwarf companions had groomed each other on their big adventure. “It’s a woman’s touch,” she had laughed as she had drawn the brush through his long, dark curls.

Well, whatever it was, it felt really good, he thought. It was relaxing but tingly at the same time. And they were all on their own, he grinned to himself. Now she was sitting astride his lap ready to plait his braids in front of his ears. Her face was only inches from his own. She separated out a strand of hair and, with a slightly furrowed brow, she began the plaiting process. 

It was morning and they had only just got up. Thorin had pulled on his breeches and Tauriel had wrapped a silken robe about herself and tied the cord. Now, as she carefully wove the lock of hair into a tight braid, Thorin studied his wife’s face. Her skin was clear and without imperfections; her mouth was soft and gently curved; her lustrous hair tumbled forward, acting as a frame to her beauty. Thorin couldn’t resist her but stealthily undid the cord and slid his hand inside the silken material.

“Stop it, Thorin!” she said, slapping his wrist. “I want to do this properly.”

And he did stop for a moment. But, once she started on the second plait, his self-control failed him. He could put up with a wonky plait in return for the pleasure of a tumble with his wife. And he seized her by the hips, pulled her to him and clamped his lips upon hers.

They were so lost in each other that they both failed to hear the horse come into the yard and it was only when the door slammed open that they resurfaced with a startled exclamation. Tauriel leapt from Thorin’s lap and hastily pulled her robe around her whilst Thorin grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair and flung it on.

“Rose!” they both yelped in unison, their faces flushed.

But they needn’t have worried. Rose scarcely seemed to notice them but swept into the room, her cloak billowing out behind her and her long, black curls tumbling down her back in a dishevelled mess. She flung her pack down in the middle of the room. Her bosom was heaving and her face looked like a thundercloud: “I’ve left him!” she snarled.

Thorin and Tauriel stood there gaping.

“What? Who? Telbarad?” Thorin asked.

“Who else?” she snapped. And then she ran across the room and, flinging her arms around Thorin’s neck, she burst into noisy tears. Then, after she had thoroughly drenched his shirt, she turned to Tauriel and cast herself upon the elf’s breast and cried: “Oh, mother! What shall I do?”

She had been riding down from the North for a week now, travelling night and day, scarcely sleeping. She was scared he would catch up with her before she reached the sanctuary of the forge. And the further she rode, the angrier she got until all her emotions had burst in a tidal wave upon her father’s shoulder.

They led her to a seat and sat either side of her, each clutching a hand and wondering what on earth could have happened.

“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” snarled Thorin. “Because if he has……..”

“No,” she whispered. “Of course not.”

“Another woman?” asked Tauriel tentatively.

“No,” she said, and she burst into tears again.

Tauriel drew her gently into her arms. “She’s not ready to talk about it yet, Thorin,” she said. “Go and make some breakfast and get her a nice cup of tea.” 

Thorin withdrew to the kitchen feeling upset and confused. In all the years he had known Rose, he had never seen her in a state like this. What had Telbarad done to her? It must have been something dreadful. And, if Telbarad had been present at that moment, he would have gone for his throat.

When Thorin re-entered with the tray of food and the pot of tea, Rose had calmed down. She sat up with them to the table and Tauriel served breakfast. They had just finished when the door crashed back on its hinges again and Telbarad stormed into the room. He was as dishevelled as Rose and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

“I knew you’d be here!” he shouted. Rose leapt from her seat and stood nose to nose with him. Thorin and Tauriel sat there with their mouths open. They had only ever seen Telbarad in his cool and calm mode and, as Thorin witnessed the fury in the Ranger’s grey eyes, he was even more convinced that he must have hurt his daughter, whatever Rose said. He started to rise from his chair but Tauriel grasped him by the arm and drew him down again.

“How dare you run off in the middle of the night like that!” Telbarad yelled. “I woke up and had no idea where you had gone!”

“Well, you must have had some idea,” Rose yelled back, “or you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

“I had to wait until morning before I could check out your tracks,” he snarled.

“That was the whole idea,” his wife responded. “I wanted a head start…..And it looks as though I needed it!”

Telbarad seized her roughly by the arms and pulled her to him. “You’ll have to run pretty fast if you think you can ever escape from me!” he said grimly.

And, at that, Thorin shook off Tauriel’s grasp and, rising to his feet, growled: “Let go of my daughter, Ranger, or you’ll regret it.”

Telbarad released Rose but turned on Thorin: “She may be your daughter, dwarf, but she’s my wife. Keep out of this or you’ll be the one to regret things.” And he bunched his fists.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” snapped Rose, and, grabbing up her pack from the floor, she ran to her old bedroom, slammed the door and turned the key.

Telbarad stared after her for a moment and then, collapsing down on a chair, buried his face in his hands and shed tears of despair. “She wants to leave me,” he wept.

Tauriel and Thorin had no idea what to do. In the end, Thorin patted him clumsily on the shoulder. “What’s this all about, then, Telbarad?” he said in a dwarf-to-man voice.

Telbarad took the elf’s offer of a handkerchief and noisily blew his nose. Tauriel poured him a cup of tea. “Has she told you anything?” he asked.

“Well, not yet,” said Thorin, sitting down opposite him. “She’s only just arrived.”

Telbarad gave him a watery grin. “So, I nearly caught up with her,” he said. “I’ve hardly stopped to sleep.”

“And?” Thorin persisted.

“If she hasn’t told you anything yet, then I don’t think it’s my place,” the Ranger said.

So, the elf and the dwarf had to contain their impatience a little longer. They sorted out a guest room for Telbarad and he lay down to catch up on his sleep. They assumed that this was what Rose was also doing behind her locked door.

.o00o.

Pt II

But, Rose was lying awake on her bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. She was feeling a mixture of anger, distress and pain and she was wondering how her relationship with Telbarad had come to this.

Before her betrothal, Thorin had asked her what she would do if she married a Ranger and then had children. She had told him quite calmly and confidently that she would remove herself to Rivendell, as was traditional, and bring them up there. She had been so sure that she would accept it when the time came because it was the way of all Rangers. And then she had married Telbarad and the years had passed and she couldn’t face the thought of leaving him, not even for a child.

Telbarad had felt the same way at first. He didn’t want to be parted from her either. And so she had drunk her fennel draught and no pregnancy had occurred. But then, only a few months ago, they had taken responsibility for Emily or Cat as she had become known. Both her parents had been Rangers and both of them had died. Telbarad had been wonderful with her and the little girl had become very attached to him. Eventually, they realised that they needed either to give her to the elves of Rivendell or find a foster family for her. Rose had expected her own parents to take her on – but she had been very wrong there. They had fostered her only reluctantly and, in the end, she had been adopted successfully by the merchant, Barnaby Waller.

Cat had had an effect on both of them. Rose became even more convinced that they had to think very carefully before they had a child because what if both of them were to die? It wasn’t surprising that so few Rangers had children when there was so much working against a decent family life. But, much to her surprise, his association with Cat only made Telbarad want his own children, whatever the difficulties. He had become very broody, she thought wanly to herself. Almost like a mother hen. He would try to talk about his need for a child but Rose continued to insist that she wasn’t ready. And knocked back her fennel draught.

Apart from this one problem, Rose’s life in the North was a very happy one. She didn’t mind the hardships – they weren’t nearly as bad as those she had endured when she was a child. Her job as a Ranger was very satisfying and she was good at it. She also did a limited amount of smithing and the men she lived alongside were very appreciative of her skill. But, most of all, she adored being with Telbarad. She sometimes wondered what would have happened to her if he hadn’t seen her and rescued her that night at the Mithril Crown. Would she have married Roger or Darri or Lostwithiel? And she shuddered at the thought. When either of them went off on patrol without the other, she endured it but she found it painful. And the thought of being far away with her children in Rivendell without seeing him, perhaps for months on end, was just too much to bear. And, until Cat had come along, she thought that Telbarad was of the same mind as herself.

Things had come to a head when they had travelled to the forge to persuade her parents to look after Cat. The child had slept between them as they camped on the way down and then her husband had grinned when he saw the luxurious feather bed in the guest room. But as Rose had unpacked her bag, she suddenly realised that she had left her fennel draught behind. There had been a bit of an argument over whether or not they should risk things but she had finally given in when Telbarad had promised that he would look for fennel the next day. It was said that fennel had retrospective action and so she had hoped for the best.

But, the next day, Telbarad claimed that he could find none of the plant in the vicinity of the forge. She had wondered whether or not this was a ploy on his part so, as they journeyed home, she had looked for some herself, had found it on the second day and had taken a double dose. Then, three weeks later, she had experienced the most dreadful stomach cramps. The pain had been very intense and Telbarad, frightened by the state she was in, had called for the help of one of the older women. Rose was in agony all night and had finally had a miscarriage. She had been pregnant and the fennel, taken too late, had worked to terminate the pregnancy rather than prevent it. It was a shock for both of them and they grieved for the child they might have had but Rose felt angry that Telbarad had put her in this position in the first place.

But, she had always been pragmatic and, by the time they had set out again for the forge to see how Cat was settling in with Thorin and Tauriel, she had pulled herself together. She felt sorry for her husband but, at the same time, the question of children was beginning to lie like a shadow between them.

At the forge, they settled Cat satisfactorily with Barnaby Waller and then set off on the journey home. This time, Rose had made sure that she had her fennel with her. But things hadn’t worked out well.

“Don’t drink the fennel,” Telbarad had pleaded with her. “I want a child, a child that looks like you, so that……” And he paused. 

Rose knew what the unfinished sentence said. “….so that, when you die, years before me, I shall have something to remind me of what I have lost.” And Rose didn’t want to think about it. 

Things just got worse over the next couple of weeks. And, finally, they had gone on patrol together. On the first night out, they had set up camp, lit a fire, cooked some food and then had got ready for bed. Telbarad spread an elven cloak over both of them and pulled Rose towards him. Only a few months earlier, she would have thrown her arms around him and kissed him passionately. But now, she was full of apprehension. As he tugged at her shift, she placed her hand on his chest and held him away from her. “I’ll just get my fennel,” she murmured, and she reached for her flask. But Telbarad had seized her by the wrist.

“Please, don’t,” he had whispered.

But, she had turned away from him and had picked up the flask with her free hand.

Telbarad’s eyes flashed. “Is my opinion of no account?” he asked.

Rose didn’t respond straight away. Then she answered his question with a question: “Is your love for me less than your desire for a child?”

Telbarad also paused. There were no simple answers. “I love you so much,” he said passionately, “that I must have more of you. And a child would give me that.”

“But your desire,” she said sadly, “is not my desire. I love you so much that I want more of you now, in the present. And I cannot bear to fulfil your desire and then be forced to leave you.” And she lifted the flask to her lips.

But Telbarad’s lips compressed with anger and he suddenly dashed the flask from her grasp so that it smashed on the ground.

And that’s when they both lost their tempers. 

.o00o.

Pt III

Tauriel and Thorin were lying in bed worriedly trying to work out what the problem was between Rose and Telbarad. Having eliminated every other possibility, Tauriel finally concluded that it must be something to do with having children. Thorin had to admit that this was the likeliest bone of contention.

“But,” he said, “I think that Telbarad is being very selfish. I know that he might find Rose ungainly and unattractive for a few months and there might be some time after the birth when they won’t be able to do you-know-what, but he’ll get over it like I did. And it’s only natural for a woman to want babies.”

But Tauriel shook her head. “No, Thorin, I think you’ve got it wrong,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it’s Rose who doesn’t want children, at least not yet.”

“Rose!” snorted Thorin in surprise. “Now why wouldn’t she want children? She’s a natural mother. Look how good she was with our two.”

“Because,” the elf replied, “I don’t think she can bear to be parted from Telbarad.”

“But, if Telbarad doesn’t mind being parted from her…….You’re not saying that he loves her less?” And Thorin sounded concerned.

“No, but he’s always been a Ranger and he has grown up with the idea of parting from the woman he loves once children come along. It’s a new idea for Rose. And you’ve also got to consider the disruptions of her early childhood. We gave her the sort of security that she would want to replicate with her husband – we were always there. And I’m pretty confident that she is having trouble coping with the idea of leaving him.”

“But,” said Thorin, looking confused, “that’s just what she’s done now. She HAS left him! What’s the difference?”

“You just don’t understand women, do you?” grinned Tauriel.

No, I don’t,” said Thorin. “And that’s after all these years of living with three of them.”

“And by the way,” said Tauriel digging him in the ribs, “are you saying you found me ungainly and unattractive when I was pregnant?”

“No, replied her husband. “I’ve always found you overwhelmingly attractive, whatever your condition – and that was part of the problem during and after pregnancy.” And he nuzzled her neck. “Are you feeling sorry for the suffering you put me through, Tauriel?” he continued in his little boy voice.

“Just a tiny bit,” she laughed, as he reached over her and turned off the lamp.

.o00o.

In the guest room, Telbarad wasn’t asleep either. He had really messed things up, he decided, and now Rose might leave him. In his mind, he had trundled through all the events of the past few months and blamed himself for every wrong turn in their relationship.

He had thought that Rose was everything he would ever want or need – and she was, in just about every way. But when they had been obliged to look after Cat, not only had that been a very enjoyable experience, but it had made him think about his age. When Rose died, he would have, perhaps, another hundred years on his own once more. He knew he would never marry again and it seemed logical to have children. And he smiled as he thought of a little girl who had long, black curls, a child who would ease part of the pain of losing his beloved wife. 

And so, he had broached it with Rose and she had said not yet, and, moreover, it sounded to him as if she meant this year, next year, sometime, never. It made him panic a little and push her harder. But the harder he pushed, the more resistant she became. Their love-making was just as passionate as ever but she was always very careful to take her fennel draught.

In the end, on the trip to the forge with Cat, she forgot. Rose wasn’t keen to risk things but Telbarad gleefully thought that here was his chance and had brought considerable pressure on her. The next day, he was “unable” to find any fennel, but she found some of her own a few days later. Sadly, she was already pregnant. This had ended in a painful disaster and he had felt very guilty. But, by the time they had visited Ered Luin and Cat for the second time, he had gone back to applying pressure on her again.

Then, a couple of days ago, they had set out on a patrol together and Telbarad had decided he was going to settle the matter once and for all. They were both determined; they were both heated. And, in the end, he had struck the fennel flask from her hand. There had followed the most terrible argument and he played it all over again in his head.

After he had dashed the fennel to the ground, Rose had looked at the broken flask and then back at him. “How dare you?” she cried.

“I dare because I’m your husband,” he retorted angrily, “and the matter of children isn’t yours to decide alone.”

“You sound just like a Rider of Rohan,” she snapped. “You should have been born in Rohan and married a Rohan bride. You obviously want someone who bows to your every wish. But I’m afraid I’m not one of them.”

Telbarad was insulted. “So, you’d compare me with one of the Rohirrim, would you? If that was so, you would have been pregnant a long time ago and you with no say in the matter.” And he felt quite hurt that this was how she saw him.

Rose sat up. “Well, if you think I’m going to sleep with you tonight, you’ve got another think coming,” she said angrily. And she moved to pick up her own elven cloak.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said furiously, grabbing her and dragging her back down again. “If you marry me then you sleep with me.” And he pulled her tightly against him and kissed her hard.

But she struggled away from him. “Let go of me,” she spat. “I don’t belong to you and don’t you ever think it!”

But he seized her wrists and rolled on top of her. “Well, let’s just see if you belong to me,” he snarled. “And if I say we’re going to make a baby, we shall make a baby.”

“Telbarad!” she cried, and suddenly he realised what he was doing. He rolled off her and turned his back on her, feeling confused and upset. Tauriel seized her cloak and moved to another spot in the glade.

She lay there for an hour, absolutely fuming. She couldn’t believe what had nearly happened. How dare he! How dare he! Like Telbarad, she was hurt and confused. How could she possibly stay with a man who thought like this? Perhaps, next time, he really would force himself upon her. Well, she thought, she wasn’t going to hang around, waiting for a next time. And, when she finally heard him snoring, she led her horse quietly away, then rode hell for leather to the safety and comfort of the forge.

When Telbarad finally woke up a few hours before dawn, he was ready to kneel to her and apologise. But, when he found her gone, his fear made him angry. Once the light came in and he could see her tracks, he thundered after her. And when he caught her, he would……he would……. Well, he didn’t know what he would do but it would have to be something sufficiently satisfying to ease the pain in his heart. 

.o00o.

Pt IV

When the four of them got up the next morning, they all sat around the breakfast table in complete silence. After they had finished, Tauriel cleared away the plates and then made the suggestion that she had made repeatedly down the years.

“Why don’t you two go for a walk down by the river bank and have a little talk?” she said. Telbarad and Rose glared at each other and neither made a move.

Thorin stood up and snapped: “Well, if your mother says that you’re to go down to the river bank, then down to the river bank you shall go!” And he glowered at them until they sullenly rose to their feet and, grabbing their cloaks, stomped out of the room.

“My, Thorin, that’s a first,” grinned Tauriel. “I’ve never heard you backing up my suggestion for the river bank before!” And Thorin had to laugh.

“Well, it just might work….. And I don’t think I could stand sharing a room with them while they sat in silence for the rest of the morning.”

“I don’t think it will work,” said Tauriel calmly. “They’re still too raw yet.”

“So, why send them down there, then?” asked Thorin in surprise.

“Because I want you to help me set up the guest bedroom for when they return,” she said with a wink.

.o00o.

It was a cold, crisp day down on the river bank and Tauriel was right. They were having an argument again.

“Why did you lock yourself in your room yesterday?” Telbarad snarled. “Anyone would think you were frightened of me!”

“No-one frightens me,” sneered Rose. “But it made sense not to take any chances.”

“So, you think I would harm you?” And the Ranger’s voice was hurt and angry.

“I don’t know what I think any more,” she retorted. “After the other night, I don’t think I recognise you.”

Her words cut like knives and lashed him into a fury. “So, what happens next? If you run, I shall follow you. And, believe me, I shall find you. And if you stay here, don’t think that your father can protect you from me.”

“Are you threatening me, Telbarad?” she asked and she stood inches from him and glared into his eyes.

“Perhaps,” he hissed. But, in actuality, he didn’t know what he meant. He only knew he wanted Rose back and he wanted things to be as they were before.

Rose turned on her heel. “Where are you going?” he shouted after her.

“Back to the forge,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I don’t feel safe on my own with you!”

.o00o.

When the two of them got back to the hall, Thorin and Tauriel were ready for them.

“No luck?” asked Thorin, raising an eyebrow.

“Not by a long shot,” grunted Telbarad. And Rose glared at him.

“I’m working on a commission in the forge,” said the dwarf to his daughter. “Come and help me with the bellows.” And Rose flounced past Telbarad with her nose in the air.

“I’m making a cake in the kitchen,” said Tauriel to Telbarad. “Come and keep me company.” And the Ranger nodded curtly and trotted along after her.

In the forge, Thorin and Rose talked about this and that and, finally, he said: “Tell me about it, Rose.”

She stopped working the bellows and, going to the door of the forge, looked out silently. When she turned back, he was sitting on the bench. He patted his knee and she sat on his lap and rested her head on his shoulder.

“It’s a bit personal,” she said.

“Well, I guessed it must be,” he smiled, “but I’m getting quite good at listening to this personal stuff in my old age.”

And so she told him all about their difference of opinion and how she had accidentally got pregnant and then had lost the child. He hugged her tightly then and she had a little weep. “Your grandchild,” she whispered.

“There’ll be others,” he said.

“Will there?” she asked. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“So, you’re serious about leaving Telbarad, then?” he asked.

There was a long pause before she told him what had happened between them while they were on patrol. “He was going to force me, father,” she said, weeping once more.

She felt Thorin tense and he hesitated before saying, “But, he didn’t, did he?”

“No, but he’s just made all kinds of threats down by the river.”

Thorin stroked her hair and poked a stray lock behind her ear: “He’s angry and upset,” he said. “Just like you.”

And then he told her something that had always been his secret. He told her how his unfounded jealousy had made him abandon Tauriel for a year until Bilbo had made him see sense and he had found her, pregnant with Arion, in Rivendell.

“I thought I was a bad man,” he sighed, “and a bad husband.”

Rose gaped. “Of course you’re not,” she exclaimed. “You’re the best dad and husband ever!”

He gave her a crooked smile. “And how do you know?” he asked.

“I just KNOW,” she said fiercely.

“And what do you KNOW about Telbarad?” he asked.

There was a long pause. “I know he’s a good man and I love him,” she said finally. “But that doesn’t resolve the issue of children.”

“Well,” said Thorin. “There’s always a compromise. I was ready to make a pretty big compromise when I thought that Arion wasn’t mine. And I reckon Poppy will have to reach a compromise when she chooses between Roger and Lostwithiel.

Rose clapped her hands gleefully. “She’s bound to choose Lostwithiel,”she laughed. “She said she would have him.”

And then she looked serious again. “So, what compromises must I make with Telbarad?” she asked.

“Well, let’s just say,” said Thorin, “if you ever have children, there will always be a welcome here for you in this forge. It’s a lot closer to the camps than Rivendell.”

Tauriel was having a similar conversation about compromises with Telbarad in the kitchen. But his handsome face was troubled. “She’s got to forgive me first and let me back into her bed before we can talk about compromises.”

The beautiful elf smiled at him and patted his hand. “Well, I think we can help you out there. But you must have patience and she’ll come around to the idea of children in the end. She’s got all the makings of a mother.”

Then it was lunch which was still a pretty silent meal. But Rose and Telbarad no longer glared at each other but gave each other sidelong glances instead. Thorin took Rose back out to the forge all afternoon until it was time for the evening meal. This time, they said polite things to each other like, “Pass the bread, please.”

After they had all helped to wash up and tidy things away, Thorin took Tauriel firmly by the hand and said, “We’re having an early night and so should you two. And, Rose,” he said, turning to her, “your old room isn’t an option.”

Rose nodded and followed Telbarad meekly off to the guest bedroom. When they opened the door, they gasped, because the room was full of flowers and the bed was strewn with petals, like a bridal chamber. 

“I think my parents want us to start from the beginning again,” smiled Rose shyly.

“And, no pressure,” said Telbarad, pointing to a flask of fennel that Tauriel had left by the side of the bed. 

They undressed and climbed onto the soft mattress. Rose took a drink from the bottle and they lay down and wrapped their arms about each other. “Not yet, Telbarad,” she whispered. “But soon, I promise you, soon.”

.o00o.

Tauriel and Thorin lay in bed. Tauriel kissed her husband gently. “Now I thought, my love, that in six months or so, Poppy would make her choice and be off our hands and then we were going to enjoy being on our own at last. After all, wasn’t that why you were so reluctant to take Cat?”

Thorin sighed. “It seems you can’t always get what you want in life and I shall have to compromise too for the sake of a daughter I love. We shall have some time on our own at least. She’s not going to turn up on our doorstep with a baby any time soon. Well,” he grinned, “at least not for another nine months.”

“Thorin,” she whispered, “you are the best person I know and I thank my lucky stars every night that my horse cast a shoe a few miles from this forge all those years ago.”

“I thank them, too,” he smiled, gazing out of the window and up at a glittering constellation in the night sky. 

“Well,” she said. “You’d better get a move on. We’ve got a lot to fit in before those babies arrive.”

“I’ll do my best,” laughed Thorin and drew her tenderly into his arms.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the End. Oh dear! That sounds ominous! But, at least it starts off happily with a wedding as Poppy and Lostwithiel finally get married. Will these two innocents make a muck-up of their wedding night? You can find out when I post the story in a few days.


	26. Thorin and the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy finally gets married (includes slightly more explicit stuff than usual) and we come to the end of this part of the story for Thorin. There will be a few assorted episodes like a postscript for Lostwithiel and several stories about Poppy’s married life.
> 
> And then the tale takes a totally unexpected new twist in the chapter entitled What the….?!
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for following my stories all this way.

Thorin and the End  
Pt I

 

Thorin was working in his forge when Poppy suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was faintly surprised because it wasn’t often that she visited him there. It was hot and dirty and noisy and wasn’t exactly the sort of environment that appealed to his daughter’s fastidious tastes.

“Are you busy?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” he smiled, “but I shall make time, just for you.” And he wiped down a bench with a rag and bowed her in.

She was wearing a pretty white dress and she sat down cautiously. “Can I talk to you?” she said.

Thorin sat on a stool, leaned forward and waited.

“I’ve got a problem and I need your advice,” she continued.

Thorin raised a surprised eyebrow. “Well, I’m honoured that you’re asking me,” he said, “but are you sure that your mother wouldn’t do a better job?”

“Mother’s too kind to me,” she shrugged. “I’d rather ask you.”

“Ah,” he grinned, “does that mean that I’m the UN-kind parent?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “You never tell me what I want to hear - you can be quite cruel sometimes – but you’re always honest.”

“Well,” snorted Thorin, “that was a bit of a back-handed compliment.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment,” said Poppy. “It was meant to be the truth.”

“So, fire away,” her father said, rather amused that his daughter preferred the brutal truth on this occasion and wondered what it was that was bothering her.

Poppy folded her hands neatly in her lap, looked down at her shoes and then up at her father’s face. “Promise me you won’t be angry with me.”

Thorin frowned: “Why should I be angry with you?”

“Because I want to talk about something that, six months ago, you and mother said you didn’t want discussed for a year,”

“Aha,”said Thorin. “A clue. It’s not about Lostwithiel and Roger, is it?”

“Yes, it is,” she pouted. “I really can’t wait any more and I need to discuss it with someone. It’s keeping me awake at night.”

“No wonder you’ve got bags under your eyes,” grinned her father.

Poppy’s hand flew to her face and she looked horrified. “I haven’t, have I?” she gasped.

“Only teasing,” he laughed and she bent forward and dug him in the ribs.

“Now, stop it, father, or I shall go away.”

He held up his hands and pulled an apologetic face. “Sorry, Poppy,” he said and he gestured to her to continue.

“Well, both Lostwithiel and Roger are worth marrying but I don’t know which.”

“You could always do what Rose did and wait for a tall, dark and handsome stranger to come along,” said Thorin. “There’s no compulsion on you to marry either of your current suitors.”

“I know there’s not but I’m not like Rose.”

That was true, thought Thorin, a little sadly.

“Rose wanted an epic love, just like you and mother,” continued Poppy. “She wanted passion. And she has been prepared to put up with all sorts of dangers and discomforts in order to achieve that. Now me,” and she also looked a little sad as she analysed her own nature, “I’m very, very practical. I think that some great passion might just be a nuisance.”

Thorin widened his eyes and let out a burst of laughter. “A nuisance?”

“Yes, it seems to me that if you really and truly love someone unconditionally and they feel the same way about you, then it just gets in the way. If there’s a lot of love, there’s potentially a lot of pain. I would also have to give so much of myself to that person, it could stop me from doing what I wanted with my life.”

Thorin felt just a little shocked. “That sounds a bit selfish, Poppy.”

His daughter smiled wanly. “But I AM selfish, father. I thought you worked that out a long time ago.”

He nodded curtly and she continued.

“I think that Lostwithiel and Roger love me just enough.”

Thorin was aghast. “And you would be content to be loved just enough?”

“They love me enough that they would look after me and care for me and give me just about everything I want from life without expecting too much in return.” Poppy saw the look on Thorin’s face. “I think I could be happy with either of them, so it’s not worth waiting for that grand passion which I don’t want anyway.”

Thorin stared at her and found he had to acknowledge that his daughter was a taker and not a giver. And he also acknowledged that, if this was the way she really was then both Roger and Lostwithiel were suitable mates.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, father?” she asked. He nodded slowly. “So, now, my only problem is: which one of them do I choose?”

He went to open his mouth and she held up a hand: “And before you suggest that we all sit around the table like we did with Rose whilst each suitor lists all his qualities and competes for my hand, then, no! Absolutely not!”

“So, what ARE you suggesting?”

“I just want to talk it through with you – my very honest and sensible father. And then I think that it will all become clear.” And she smiled and patted his hand.

“So, let’s start with Roger,” said Thorin tersely.

“Well, I see Roger as a bit of a package deal. He comes with a big house, plenty of money and a father who thinks I’m totally wonderful. They could also offer me the sort of lifestyle that would suit me. They want an attractive hostess and that quite appeals to me. I’m not interested in being a smith or a guardian of our borders but I am interested in wearing beautiful gowns and arranging dinner parties and entertaining fashionable and elegant guests.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Thorin. “So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I like him as a friend but I don’t love him.”

Thorin felt confused. “But I thought you said that you didn’t want love?”

“I said I didn’t want a grand passion,” Poppy corrected him. “But I would prefer to love the man I marry if only a bit. And you remember when you found us in the library?”

“Yes, I remember,” Thorin said grimly.

“Well, I let him kiss me in the library to see what I thought......And I didn’t like it very much. He was very forceful and he stuck his tongue down my throat.”

Thorin held up a hand and shut his eyes. “Too much information,” he said, wincing.

“No, it’s not,” said Poppy firmly. “How are you going to advise me if you don’t know all the facts?”

Thorin looked resigned.

“You’ll be pleased to know that I was glad when you walked in that night. It was getting a bit scary. And I have thought since then: Do I want to marry Roger and be obliged to go to bed with him every night even if he comes with a big house and a generous father?”

Thorin frowned as he thought about the matter. He didn’t want to dismiss Roger when the alternative was Lostwithiel. “He’s only an inexperienced young man at the moment,” he offered. “Surely the two of you can learn about the physical side of love together?”

“Yes, that’s what I thought,” nodded Poppy. “And that’s why I haven’t crossed him off my list.”

“And what about Lostwithiel?” Thorin asked.

“I’ve always wondered about you and Lostwithiel,” Poppy suddenly said.

“I thought this was about your relationship with him, not mine,” growled Thorin.

“But you have a bias against him, don’t you?” persisted Poppy. “So, I’m wondering how you can advise me when you don’t seem to like him.” And she cocked her head on one side and looked at her father curiously.

“Lostwithiel is a friend,” Thorin answered stiffly. “We’ve been through a lot together. So, don’t you worry that I’ll be unfair.”

But Poppy persisted. “Rose told me that you beat him up once, before I was born – about that time that you made your famous stand against the orcs.”

Thorin spluttered. “I didn’t beat him up. We just had a fight – and we forgot about it afterwards.”

“I wonder what the fight was about,” Poppy mused. And when her father just compressed his lips and looked away, she laughed. “You know, I’m not so stupid that I can’t read the undercurrents between you two.” She stared at him a bit longer and Thorin coloured up. “Hmmm,” she said. “Perhaps I should ask my mother about it.”

Thorin’s head snapped up. “Don’t you dare, Poppy,” he barked.

“Then you’d better give me a fair opinion about Lostwithiel or I shall wonder why,” she said with a sly grin. “And,” she said softly, “perhaps all that to-do is a good example of why I’m avoiding a passionate love.”

“So,” said Thorin, keen to change the subject, “tell me about Lostwithiel.”

Poppy smiled. “Well, I’ve loved him all my life, even if you would probably say that it’s not the sort of love that you feel for mother or Rose for Telbarad.”

“So, what sort of love is it?” asked Thorin curiously.

Poppy thought hard. “I’ve always been very comfortable with him. I like sitting on his lap and holding his hand and snuggling up to him. I like being in his company and he makes me laugh.”

“Is that enough?” asked her father.

“Perhaps not, but when I kissed him six months ago, it was more than just very nice. I felt safe with him and I wanted things to go further. So, I suppose that must have been a good sign.”

Thorin didn’t like the idea of his daughter going “further” and was glad he had interrupted them at the waterfall but he had to agree that this seemed promising. And so he said resignedly: “Well, it seems to me that Lostwithiel is the one, and so.......?”

Poppy sighed. “Can you imagine me living in those spartan married quarters up at the outpost, helping to clean the farmhouse and cooking for the men for a whole lifetime?”

“No,” said Thorin bluntly.

She reached out and touched his hand. “You see, this is why I wanted to discuss it with you. Mother would have argued backwards and forwards, trying to persuade me that I could cope – all in the name of love. But, you understand me, father. You know that I’m not a very giving person. I’m not even very nice.”

Thorin squeezed Poppy’s hand. “Yes, I do understand you but I think you’re very hard on yourself. There are a lot of wonderful things about you and I don’t want to hear you say such things again.”

He stood up and pulled her to her feet and hugged her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think it might be useful if I were to go and visit Lostwithiel and have a little chat with him.”

Poppy hugged her father back and gave him a kiss. “Yes, please,” she said. “I feel as if I need a bit of third party interference here, particularly when the third party is you.”

.o00o.

 

Pt II

Thorin told Tauriel the whole story in bed that night. “I’m glad she spoke to you and not to me,” she said. “She’s right when she says that I would be too nice about things. And I like both Roger and Lostwithiel, so I would have swung from one to the other until the poor girl would have been more confused than ever.”

She put her arms around him. “But perhaps she’s more in love with Lostwithiel than she thinks. After all, I like kissing you and holding your hand and sitting on your lap and snuggling up to you, just like she does with Lostwithiel.” And she demonstrated this with a snuggle.

“Ah, yes,” murmured Thorin, “but does she like doing this.....or this......or this?”

“Give her time,” giggled his wife. And his blue eyes turned black with passion as he pulled her into his powerful arms.

.o00o

.

Thorin set off for the outpost the next morning after kissing his wife and daughter good bye. Lostwithiel was surprised to see him but he was made very welcome by the elf lord and the rest of the troop.

“I’ve come to have a few private words with you, Lostwithiel,” he said. The elf looked startled and the dwarf’s stern countenance made him feel uneasy. What now, he thought? But he showed him into Tauriel’s office, then sat down to await his fate.

“Don’t look so worried,” said Thorin. “I’m not here to tear you off a strip about anything – unless, of course, you know something that I don’t know.” He raised an eyebrow and the elf looked guilty. Thorin burst out laughing. “I seem to have this knack, Lostwithiel, of making you squirm even when you’ve got nothing to squirm about.” And he clapped him on the shoulder.

“You might be pleased to know,” he continued, “that I’ve come to talk about Poppy.” But this news made the elf look more anxious than ever.

Thorin gave him an amused look. “Are you frightened of me, Lostwithiel?”

“Yes,” answered the elf bluntly. “I never know which way you mean to jump and you always look as though you want to punch me on the nose.”

Thorin let out another bark of laughter: “Well, perhaps that’s because I do. But, I suppose, since you might be joining my family, I’d better start working on my people skills.” And he adjusted his face into a pleasant smile whilst Lostwithiel looked more wary than ever.

“Your family?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve come to discuss whether or not you should marry Poppy.”

The elf’s mouth dropped open. “But I thought we weren’t supposed to discuss this for another six months?”

“I’ve changed the rules,” said Thorin calmly. 

“See what I mean about not knowing which way you will jump next?” muttered Lostwithiel.

“Keeps you on your toes,” grinned Thorin. “Now let’s get down to business.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, she loves you but she’s thinking of marrying Roger.”

The elf looked confused. “But, if she loves me.......”

“Well, in Poppy’s world, that’s not necessarily the way things work. You must know her after all these years – and if you don’t, then you really shouldn’t be thinking of marrying her or marriage might turn out to be an unpleasant surprise.”

“Of course I know her,” Lostwithiel retorted. “She’s very pragmatic and a bit selfish.”

Thorin gave him a look. 

“All right – very selfish. But she’s also brave and kind and she’s capable of real love. Just look at the way she feels about you and Tauriel.”

Thorin grinned to himself. Perhaps this elf would make a better husband for his daughter than he had first thought. He decided to be nice. “Since she loves you, I suppose I would prefer it if she married you rather than Roger whom she merely likes. But he can offer her a luxurious life-style, the sort of life-style that you really must concede would suit her better than what you could offer her up here.”

The elf looked downcast. “I want the best for her,” he admitted, “because I love her. And so perhaps she would be better off marrying Roger.” And he slumped in his chair looking miserable.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, man,” snapped Thorin. “Don’t you believe in fighting for what you want?”

“I want her to be happy,” Lostwithiel snapped back. “If she’s unhappy with me, she’ll just pack her bags and move back down to the forge. Or, even worse, go running after Roger in the Grey Havens. And I couldn’t bear that!”

And Thorin remembered how he had been afraid that Tauriel would get bored with her life at the forge. He remembered how much that thought had tormented him, and he suddenly felt a connection with Lostwithiel.

“How much are you prepared to give up for Poppy?” Thorin suddenly asked. “You’re a wealthy elf lord. When I first met you, you were a courtier from Mirkwood - elegant, suave, beautifully dressed – much more Poppy’s thing. Couldn’t you return to that life?”

There was a long pause.

“Or, to put it another way,” continued the dwarf, “is Poppy worth it?”

“Of course she’s worth it,” Lostwithiel sighed, “and I’ve already seriously considered giving up my position here and returning to an idle life either in the Grey Havens or Mirkwood. But, in the same way as I’m worried that Poppy won’t be able to cope with the outpost, so I’m afraid that, in the end, I won’t be able to cope with a return to my former life of ease.” He stood up and walked to the window.

“You know,” he continued, “I’ve learned so much up here both from Tauriel and the experience itself. I’m not the same person I was and defending our borders has given me a purpose. I’m frightened that any discontent for me in the Grey Havens would result in constant bickering and unhappiness for both of us.”

Lostwithiel had obviously thought about things seriously and Thorin, for the first time, found himself feeling some respect for the elf. He leaned forward: “Then what about a compromise?” he said.

.o00o.

A few hours later, they came riding down together from the farmhouse. Tauriel and Poppy were expecting only Thorin so they were surprised when Lostwithiel came too.

“He’s come to talk things over with Poppy,” Thorin said and somehow expected that they would all have a family conference. But Tauriel shooed her daughter and the elf out the door. “It’s lovely down by the river,” she said. “I expect you two have got a lot to say to each other.”

Thorin glared at Tauriel. Not the river bank again! But she just ignored him and waved the pair off. “You’re just encouraging them to get up to mischief,” he muttered.

“No, I’m encouraging them to sort their lives out,” she replied. Then she made him sit down and then she perched herself upon his lap and asked him how his chat had gone with Lostwithiel.

“Well,” he said, “we discussed how he and Poppy could reach some compromises.”

“Such as?” she asked with interest.

Thorin kissed her lips and then he kissed her throat. “Do you think they’ll be gone for some time?” he said huskily.

“Such as?” repeated Tauriel, trying to ignore him.

“You’re a hard woman,” Thorin sighed as Tauriel brushed away a caressing hand. But then he looked quite pleased with himself. “I think I came up with some good ideas,” he said. “One of Poppy’s complaints is about the rather grim accommodation at the outpost. And so I suggested that, if nice accommodation doesn’t exist, then he should build her some.”

“Like a lovely house rather than just one room: a small manor in a nearby, pretty glade with a beautiful view,” Tauriel put in excitedly.

“And I think that the two of them should design it between them so that Poppy feels it belongs to her and is proud of it,” continued the dwarf.

“Right. And he should let her buy some lovely elven furniture so that it all looks elegant and charming. Perhaps you could make a financial contribution there,” she said, “as a wedding present.” 

Thorin made a quick calculation in his head and wasn’t so sure about that. “I know what you’re thinking,” tutted his wife, and she gave him a look that made him feel a bit mean.

“Now,” he said, “the most important thing is that she should have servants to clean and cook and keep a garden looking beautiful – servants she can order around so that she can feel like a lady and not a housewife. I expect that some of the young dwarves from the settlement or a few girls or lads from the Grey Havens would be very pleased to get a job there. And then, with the help of these servants, she can organise some nice little dinners and even some elegant soirees for the troop and people from round about so that she can live out her fantasy of being a successful hostess. And I’m sure, actually, that everyone will be pleased that she has brought a bit of fun to the area.”

“And,” chimed in Tauriel again, getting quite carried away, “they could buy that derelict plot at the Grey Havens where you had that forge and they could build themselves a lovely weekend house there with a view of the sea and then she could join in all the parties going on down there on a regular basis.”

Thorin looked grumpy. “I wanted that plot,” he said. “I thought we could have a weekend house there ourselves once all the children were gone.”

“Don’t be selfish,” she said. But Thorin continued to glower. So, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him into a good humour. “Those are brilliant ideas,” she whispered. “Poppy should be really grateful that she’s got you for a father. If this marriage doesn’t work, it won’t be for lack of trying.”

Down on the river bank, Poppy was feeling very excited with the compromises that Lostwithiel had suggested. The thought of an elegant little manor house all of her own up in the hills had really appealed to her and now she was showing her appreciation. She shut her eyes as Lostwithiel took her in his arms and his kisses were just as delightful as they had been at the waterfall. “Will you marry me?” asked Lostwithiel when he managed to drag his lips away from hers for a few moments. 

“We’ll exchange rings tomorrow,” she breathed against his mouth. But when they returned to the forge, Tauriel insisted that first they had to go together to tell Roger and his father their decision. They looked at each other. They guessed that this would be a difficult and embarrassing task, but they knew that Tauriel was right.

“And then,” said Thorin, “we can start on the house and, as soon as it’s finished, you can get married. Perhaps in six months and not a year.”

The two left for the Grey Havens the following day and Thorin and Tauriel found themselves alone, a foretaste of what it would be like after Poppy got married. When Poppy and Lostwithiel’s horses had disappeared off down the road, they stood blinking at each other. “It’s a strange feeling,” said Tauriel.

“We can kiss each other and do OTHER things without any fear of being interrupted,” grinned Thorin. 

“But, can we be bothered, now that we can?” sighed Tauriel, with a yawn. “Somehow, all the excitement goes out of things once there’s no danger of being caught.”

“Well,” said Thorin, “you can leave me to feel all the excitement for both of us if you like.” And he threw his giggling wife over his shoulder and made for the bedroom.

.o00o.

 

Pt III

The next few months passed in a whirl for the family. Lostwithiel and Poppy designed their house and Thorin organised a group of dwarven masons to build it up on the fringes of the farmhouse. Tauriel and Poppy went regularly to the Grey Havens to organise the furnishings for her new home and potential servants and gardeners were interviewed and chosen for when the work was finished. Lostwithiel checked out the burned down house and purchased the plot for a good price. He arranged to have the area cleared but they would build their home there after they were married.

The interview with Roger and his father when they had explained that Poppy was going to marry Lostwithiel had been a bit upsetting, mainly because Barnaby had been quite distressed at the thought that Poppy would not be joining his family. But he had his own adopted daughter, Cat, now to focus on and, after Poppy had coaxed him along, by the time they had left, he was wishing them well.

Much to Thorin’s relief, although they were betrothed, the two had not asked if they could make up the double bed when Lostwithiel came visiting. However, they were sometimes found a bit flushed and dishevelled in a dark corner. “Well, there’s always the river bank, if you but knew it,” Tauriel had said to the dwarf.

“But I don’t know it,” said Thorin, “and that’s the way I like it.”

When Arion came to stay and sussed out the situation he said: “See, I told you that Lostwithiel could always be expected to behave properly.”

If only you knew, thought Thorin. But he had NEARLY forgiven the elf lord for that incident with Tauriel all those years ago.

He sent messages to Bilbo, inviting him to be a guest, and to Elrond, asking him to perform the ceremony. Large silken pavilions were set up in the flower meadows surrounding the farmhouse and, at last, everything was ready and the day came.

The wedding guests began to assemble at the outpost and, although the new house was finished, not all the furniture had arrived. But, some beds were set up there and, between the farmhouse, the guest accommodation, the manor and the tents, there was sufficient space for everyone.

The day before the wedding, Rose and Telbarad arrived, much to everyone’s joy. They had collected Dis on the way and, following them closely, came Elrond and Bilbo with a great troop of elven lords and ladies. These greeted the happy couple and gave them gifts but then they passed onwards down to the Grey Havens.

“I want to speak to the whole family about something important,” said Elrond, the night before the wedding. And so they all gathered around the table and waited, wide-eyed with curiosity, to hear what Elrond had to say. 

The elf lord looked at them one by one and his face was very grave. “A great evil threatens Middle-earth,” he said, “and it is doubtful whether or not we shall stand or fall. The power of the elves is waning along with the power of our rings: Narya, Nenya and Vilya. Our time here grows less and, over the coming years we must decide whether to leave and go into the West to the Undying Lands or stay and fade and die.” Tauriel guessed what was coming and she reached out and clasped Thorin’s hand.

“The company of elves who came with me today have passed on to the Grey Havens,” he continued. “There, they will take ship and go into the West. They are the first of many. Only the elves may sail on these ships,” and he paused and looked at Lostwithiel and Tauriel, “or the half-elven, like myself and like Arion and Poppy. For the men of Numenor, like Telbarad, and for the race of Men, like Rose, there is no place.”

“And no place for any dwarf either,” grunted Thorin, glancing at Dis.

“Ah, Thorin,” smiled Elrond, “there you are wrong.”

Tauriel looked startled. “You are going to name him elf-friend,” she said.

“Elf-friend?” asked Thorin.

“The Council of Elves have decided to name you elf-friend for all that you have done for Middle-earth. There is a place for you and your elven wife on the ships to the Undying Lands whenever you choose to take it.”

Thorin stared at the table for a long time. “It was easier when I had no choice,” he finally said. “In about 50 years, I was going to die and Tauriel would live. We had learned to accept it. And now,” he said almost angrily, “you offer me a choice. I must choose whether to go on the ships with my wife and live for all eternity with ELVES!” And he let out a bark of laughter. “Or I can choose to stay here and lead a mortal life with my sister, Dis, and with my daughter, Rose.” Then he turned to his wife. “How can I make such a choice, Tauriel?”

She touched his hair gently. “We are all faced with a choice here, my love, whether to go or whether to stay.”

Arion was looking upset. “I don’t want to go without Rose,” he said. “It’s not fair.” And Thorin could see the stubborn dwarven set of his jaw.

Elrond raised a hand. “You need make no decision yet. But there is a place for you on the ships, Thorin, when the time comes.” He looked at them all gently and with love. “This is supposed to be a gift, on the night of Poppy’s wedding. It is not meant to make you sad or miserable. And you have a few years to think about it before the last ship leaves. I myself will not go until the very end but, after the wedding, I shall travel to the Grey Havens to bid my friends farewell.”

The wedding was a very beautiful and very joyful occasion. Poppy looked lovely in a flowing cream dress covered in tiny silk flowers. Rose accompanied her and carried a large basket of petals that she cast upon the wind as Thorin led her to the table where Elrond awaited them before the largest of the silk pavilions. Lostwithiel looked so handsome that Poppy sternly told her heart to be still: it would be really inconvenient if she fell TOO much in love with him.

And then they feasted and danced and sang into the night until the stars and moon glittered brightly upon them. Finally, Lostwithiel and Poppy withdrew to the guest accommodation which had been transformed with flowers by Tauriel and Rose into a lovely bower in readiness for the happy couple.

“Much against expectations,” said Thorin as he squeezed into the narrow bed at the farmhouse with Tauriel, “I think they’ll be happy. But,” he amended, “not as happy as us. No-one could be as happy as us.”

And then they both remembered their first night together in Lake Town and, thinking of young love, Tauriel said: “Let’s recapture the moment, Thorin.” And he made love to her very gently and very tenderly and both of them tried not to think about the future and the choices that Elrond had given them.

.o00o.

The door had shut quietly upon the newly-married couple and Poppy and Lostwithiel found themselves alone in the flower-strewn room. They stood either side of the big bed, its coverlet scattered with rose petals, and they both suddenly felt very shy. For the past six months, they had snatched breathless moments together in dark corners and had felt flustered and guilty whenever anyone had caught them kissing each other.

But Poppy had realised that her father preferred and even approved of such furtive goings-on and so had not asked to make up the double bed. Lostwithiel was in total agreement. “Goodness, no!” he had exclaimed when she had discussed it with him. “The thought of sleeping with you and - um – doing things, with Thorin only a short distance away, on the alert for every creak – well – it just makes my toes curl.” And a shudder ran through him.

And so they had carried on, stoking up their passion, gasping and panting and feeling quite desperate at times, but the thought of Thorin always managed to throw a bucket of cold water over things when they teetered on the edge of going too far.

Poppy was surprised at how aroused Lostwithiel made her feel. “But it’s just frustration,” she assured herself. After they had done the deed, she was pretty confident she would be in control again. She didn’t much like the dizzying sensation of being swept off her feet and she would be glad when it was all done and dusted.

Lostwithiel was also surprised at the intensity of his feelings. He thought he had loved Rose but that feeling was as nothing compared to what he now felt for Poppy. The wedding-night could not come fast enough for him and he had taken a whole load of cold baths in the past few weeks to cool his ardour.

Apart from the thought of Thorin, the other thing that controlled his actions was the memory of that horrible time when he had forced himself upon Tauriel. He would never - ever – treat a woman like that again. And he was determined to follow Poppy’s wishes and desires in all matters related to the bedroom.

But now they faced each other and neither knew how to start.

“Err,” said Lostwithiel. “Would you like a glass of wine?” And he gestured to a decanter by the side of the bed.

“No, thank you,” said Poppy primly.

Lostwithiel edged around the bed and took her hand. He bobbed his head down to kiss her just as she jerked her head up to kiss him. Both were determined to take the bull by the horns and only managed to knock noses together.

“Sorry!” they both muttered at the same time.

Then Lostwithiel noticed a very beautiful lace nightgown that was draped across the pillow.

“Umm, that’s very pretty,” he said. “Shall I help you on with it?”

She nodded and her hands began to fumble with the silk buttons on the front of her bodice.

But the elf lord gently moved her hands away. “I’ll do that,” he said.

She looked up at him and he looked down at her, his fingers trembling slightly as he released her from the bodice. How very handsome he was, thought Poppy. She suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss those finely-chiselled lips and began to look forward to what was coming next.

All the buttons were undone and Lostwithiel carefully slid her dress off her shoulders so that the garment slowly slithered down around her ankles to the floor. Poppy stepped gracefully out of the pool of shining material and was left standing in a silken undergarment that clung enticingly to her shapely form.

Lostwithiel felt quite light-headed and took a deep breath.

“Shall I undo your shirt now?” Poppy asked.

He nodded, not able to speak. And so she undid all the buttons down the front of the elf’s silken shirt and pushed it from his shoulders to fall upon the floor along with her dress. He was now naked from the waist up and her eyes widened when she saw how beautiful he was. She reached up to touch his strong, smooth chest and then she ran her hands down the muscles of his arms so that he quivered.

“You feel lovely,” she breathed.

“And now it’s my turn,” he whispered. He took the short undergarment by its hem and drew it slowly over her head. She was startlingly naked underneath and Lostwithiel swallowed hard at her loveliness. Poppy shyly crossed her arms in front of herself but he took her by the hands and stared at her. “I’ve never seen a woman naked before,” he said, “and I didn’t realise.....” And he stuttered to a halt.

Her golden hair fell upon her shoulders and he reached out to touch it gently. And then he let his hands drift slowly down to cup her breasts. He shut his eyes as a great wash of desire ran through him. “It feels....it feels so...” And again he couldn’t find the words but, instead, he just decided to experience the exquisite sensation of that soft flesh yielding in his palms.

He gave a great sigh, his arms went around her and he pulled her to him. Their lips came together at last and they kissed each other fiercely. Her naked breasts pressing against his naked chest made them both feel dizzy with longing.

He picked her up and laid her upon the bed, and the pretty nightgown was brushed, forgotten, onto the floor. He sat down and pulled off his boots and then his breeches and, when he turned around, it was Poppy’s turn to be startled. The next part of this love-making business was going to be unknown territory – for both of them. And she wondered what sort of a mess they would make of it.

Lostwithiel lay on the bed facing her. He kissed her gently and said: “I’m sorry that I’m so ignorant and I hope I don’t hurt you because of it but – um – I haven’t done this before.”

“I know,” she said, “but let’s try to work it out together. My mother and father had to do the same once themselves and they survived it.” And they both giggled together and Lostwithiel found it almost impossible to imagine the oh-so-masculine and arrogant dwarf ever having to fumble around in bed like he was sure he was about to do.

Their laughter relaxed them a bit. Lostwithiel’s hand went back to her breast and his thumb caressed her nipple. “Let’s just do what we feel like doing,” he said, and she murmured an assent.

“This is what I feel like doing,” he whispered and his head dipped down to suckle at her breast. 

She squirmed with pleasure and panted out, “And this is what I want to do.” And she ran a curious hand down the flat and muscled planes of his belly and grasped the very interesting object protruding from between his legs. Then she laughed softly as he groaned and flinched because his reaction made her feel her power.

There followed a time of exploration until they were both breathing heavily and gasping for breath. “Shall I try now?” said Lostwithiel.

“Yes, please,” she said and her body pressed against his yearningly.

He fumbled between her legs. “Sorry - umm - sorry,” he kept muttering but, in the end, their own bodies showed them the way and he suddenly slid inside her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked anxiously.

“No, no,” she panted and she began to move against him.

He rolled on top of her and a rhythm built up naturally. Poppy clutched at him, enjoying the sensation and yet feeling she was chasing something elusive. Lostwithiel became caught up in a private world of intense stimulation that swept over him in waves until his body felt completely out of control.

Suddenly he jerked in spasm after spasm that were so violently pleasurable that he couldn’t stop himself from crying out and then collapsing upon his wife. And to think he had waited more than a thousand years for this moment! He lay upon her, gasping and trembling and Poppy stroked him gently, experiencing a strange feeling of tenderness. But, Lostwithiel thought that he had failed her. “You should have felt that too,” he said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. But he didn’t hear her because he had fallen fast asleep.

She snuggled up to his beautiful body, gently touching and caressing him as he breathed softly beside her. She knew there was something more which she had missed out on, but even without that elusive unknown, it had all been pretty wonderful and she giggled to herself at the thought of getting into bed with Lostwithiel and his lovely body night after night. She fell asleep then but was awoken a couple of hours later by her new husband nuzzling her breasts once more and gently nudging open her legs. 

“Let’s try again,” he murmured. “And, this time, it’s for you.”

It certainly was, thought Poppy some time later. And, as she exploded and splintered into a thousand shards, she only felt the slightest annoyance that she was now as much Lostwithiel’s as he was hers.

.o00o.

 

The next morning, many of the guests departed but all the Oakenshields, as well as Bilbo, planned to return to the forge for a family celebration together. Elrond intended to accompany them as far as the crossroads before travelling onwards to the Grey Havens. The young lovers emerged from their guest suite, holding hands and looking shyly at each other. There was a lot of gentle teasing around the breakfast table and both of them blushed and protested at the jocularity. Thorin was amused to see how demure Poppy had become and thought that her behaviour was a likely sign of how successful the wedding night had been. He grinned across the table at Tauriel and she smiled back. A feeling of relief swept over him that he had now unloaded both his daughters, apparently quite successfully. Two children down and one to go. But Arion seemed bound up in his job and a long way yet from being interested in getting married. 

After breakfast, Thorin, Telbarad, Arion, Lostwithiel, Elrond and Bilbo mounted their horses, while Tauriel, Rose and Dis climbed into the trap so that they could have a good gossip and share in a blow by blow analysis of the wedding. But Poppy didn’t want to be parted from Lostwithiel and he set her before him on his horse. They lagged slightly behind the party, spending a lot of time gazing into one another’s eyes. “Yuck!” said Arion to Bilbo. “I never imagined that Poppy would become so soppy!”

But Bilbo just laughed in response and said: “Well, if you think that’s soppy, then you should have seen your mother and father in Rivendell before you were born.” And Arion looked at Thorin and Tauriel and found it difficult to imagine that his grumpy father or his sensible mother could ever have been soppy together. 

Lostwithiel was now whispering intimately into Poppy’s ear and Poppy was giggling. Arion cast his eyes up. “Well, you don’t have to look, you know,” laughed Telbarad. “When it’s your turn, you’ll be just as bad.”

“No, I won’t,” said Arion airily, “because I’m not getting married.” And he looked across at the hobbit. “Bilbo seems to be having plenty of fun all on his own.”

“Ah, yes,” said Telbarad, “but let me tell you, young man, that it’s a lot more fun when there are two of you.” And he winked at Thorin.

And so, laughing and chatting and gossiping, they made their happy way down the side of the hill towards the forge.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

As they got nearer the forge, Thorin was struck by a wave of emotion. He was coming home. This is where he and Tauriel had started their life together and this was where they would end it. He found it difficult to imagine that he would want to run off to the Undying Lands to escape his fate. Soon, his children would all be gone and he and Tauriel would be together, on their own, at last. The forge was full of memories and he was looking forward to creating yet more memories there with his wife.

He smiled softly to himself. Could there be a happier dwarf in all of Middle-earth?

And then they turned the corner.

A band of fully-armed orcs, including three warg-riders, straddled the road and more were pouring out from the nearby woods. Elrond and Telbarad and Arion drew their swords; even Bilbo pulled little Sting from its scabbard. Thorin unhitched both his axe from behind his back and Orcrist from its sheath while Tauriel reached for her killing knives. Rose, Poppy and Lostwithiel were carrying bows and all three swiftly nocked arrows to the string. Dis had been a shield-maiden in her youth and Rose passed her the sword from her belt. Even her rusty sword-play would be needed.

Much to Thorin’s surprise, the orcs didn’t attack at once but their leader stepped forward and spoke. “Aaarrch,” he sneered in his harsh, guttural tongue. “After nearly 20 years, I have returned, T’orin Oakenshield, and I will have my revenge for that night’s work at your forge.”

And, to his horror, Thorin suddenly realised that this was one of those orcs who had escaped after the raid at the crossroads.

“If only we had Warg with us,”Arion was thinking. He was counting the enemy and could see that they were badly outnumbered. But his thoughts were made flesh as Warg suddenly loped out from between the trees. Just as on that day when his pet had deserted him and the enemy wargs had spoken and stopped Warg in his advance, so today, Warg yowled and grunted and, as the orcs tried to force their steeds forward, their creatures refused to move. Seizing his opportunity, Arion recklessly galloped forward and, in one long and continuous motion, swept the heads from the riders’ shoulders with his sword. Once they were riderless, the wargs howled to the albino and ran off into the woods from whence they had come.

Thorin yelled and plunged forward and suddenly, all was action. The three archers let loose arrow after arrow, Warg set about him with his razor-sharp teeth and swords and axes and killing knives flashed brightly in the sun. Such was their onslaught that, soon, many of the orcs lay dead and others had run away. But their leader stood firm and, at last, Thorin found himself face to face with him. The orc was larger than Thorin and his desire for revenge filled him with a bloodlust. “Prepare to die, dwarf,” he taunted him. But Thorin was more skilled and he drove the orc back until the creature was pressed against a tree. And then, with a great shout, Thorin lifted his axe to strike off his head. But the orc, not fearing death and, reckless of his fate, threw himself forward and, moments before the axe bit into him, drove his sword home. 

Thorin felt as though someone had punched him hard in the stomach and, immediately, all strength drained from his body. With a feeling of surprise, he staggered backwards and collapsed on the ground. The fighting all about him was nearly over and Tauriel cried out as she saw him fall. She rushed to her husband’s side with Elrond close behind her. Thorin gave her a look of dazed incomprehension and she sat in the middle of the road, cradling his great head in her lap. Telbarad came then and cut away his clothes so that Elrond could examine the wound. The fighting had come to an end and the others gathered in an anxious and silent circle around them.

Finally, the elf-lord stood up and said quietly: “It is a fatal wound. The sword penetrated his gut and, soon, his blood will be corrupted. There is nothing I can do for him and, in the end, he will die.”

Tauriel looked up at him. “How long?” she asked.

“He could last until tomorrow,” Elrond said.

“Then we must take him to the Grey Havens,” she said.

The wedding party, bloodied and bruised, had been standing around Thorin in a stunned silence, but now they moved purposefully. Carefully, they lifted Thorin into the back of the trap, Tauriel climbed in with him, Rose drove and the others mounted their horses. Arion called to Warg but was not surprised when the beast turned away and sloped off into the trees. He sensed that he would see him again.

Then, as quickly as possible, they made their way to the Grey Havens.

.o00o. 

Thorin drifted in and out of consciousness. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Into the West,” Tauriel said firmly, “to the Undying Lands.”

“But I had made up my mind not to go,” he said weakly.

“Well,” said the elf, “that was before you received a mortal wound. And I am not going to lose my husband at the same time that I lose my children.”

Thorin could see the sense of it and he argued no more. Now that death stared him in the face, he wanted more life and he wanted to spend it with Tauriel.

“All those elves,” he said, and he smiled faintly. 

Tauriel smiled back and ran her hand gently down a plait. “You’ll get used to us,” she said.

They arrived at the Grey Havens in the late afternoon and an elegant ship was preparing to leave, waiting for the turn of the tide. A litter was brought to the quayside and Thorin was laid upon it. He stared up at the clear sky and watched the white gulls wheeling and crying there.

“The ship has come to carry you home,” said Elrond. But not home to the forge, Thorin thought. “We shall meet again,” the elf lord said and he clasped the dwarf by the hand.

Then Bilbo said: “It was a good adventure, old friend, but it is time for you to set out on another.” And he bade him farewell.

Then those who knew they would see him again came before him. Poppy knelt and put her arms about him and kissed him. “What shall I do without you, father,” she cried.

“Live a happy life,” said Thorin. “This parting is only for a time.”

“I’ll look after her,” said Lostwithiel.

“You’d better,” said Thorin, “or I shall punch you on the nose when next we meet.” And they grasped each other silently by the arm.

Arion knelt beside his father then. “You’re a fine lad,” said his father, “and one that I’ve always been proud of. You’ll be a man by the time we meet again.” Arion could find no words and silently backed away.

Then came those whom Thorin would see no more.

“I wish you could come with us, Dis,” he said to his sister.

“But I have no desire to come,” she smiled. “When I die, I shall go to the halls of waiting where I hope to be reunited with my sons.” And she kissed him softly goodbye.

And then Telbarad came forward. “Guard well our borders, Ranger,” said Thorin, “and keep my daughter safe.” And Telbarad bowed gravely to him.

And, last of all, came Rose, and bitter was the parting. Thorin reached up to touch her cheek and his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye, dearest Rose,” he said. And she wept and her tears fell upon his face.

“It is time,” said Elrond and Tauriel embraced them all. Then four elf lords came from the ship and carried Thorin on board whilst Tauriel walked beside the litter and held his hand. And the sails were unfurled and the wind blew and the ship passed out of the harbour into the high sea and on into the West.

And Thorin lay under a silken canopy upon the deck and, as they sailed towards the Undying Lands and the moon came up, it rained, making the air smell sweet and refreshed. And then it was as if the silver curtain of the rain was drawn back and he heard the sound of singing drifting to him over the water. “Look,” whispered Tauriel. And suddenly the sun arose and, in a shaft of piercing light, they could see the white beaches and the green hills of their new land.

But those they left behind and who stared into the darkness after them saw nothing except the blackness of the night and they heard nothing except the sussuration of the waves upon the shore.

And, at last, the friends and family of Thorin Oakenshield and Tauriel the Elf turned their backs upon the Grey Havens and, taking comfort in each other, set out on the weary journey back to the forge at the crossroads. 

 

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next episode: Thorin Amongst the Elves. In this we find out how Thorin copes in a new environment and with new neighbours, LOL! Both sides will be a bit aghast, I shouldn’t wonder.


	27. Thorin among the Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Tauriel have parted company with their family and friends as they sail into the West. I found it difficult to imagine The Undying Lands/Valinor and how Thorin coped there, but I’ve had a go. So, how will Thorin cope with all those elves and, more importantly, how will they cope with him, LOL?

Thorin amongst the Elves  
Pt I

When he sailed to the Undying Lands, Thorin found he had two problems to deal with: one was the question of where to live, the other was how to handle the attitude of all those elves.

“Eughh! Elves!” as he said to Tauriel in his deep voice.

“Now, stop it, Thorin!” said Tauriel, slapping him on the wrist.

This second problem had started on the ship. He was still very weak, lying on his litter under a silken canopy on deck with Tauriel by his side, tending to him. Ever since the ship had burst through that strange curtain of glassy rain on the first night he had begun to feel better. But Tauriel had insisted that he continue to rest and it was some days before they finally reached their destination. 

For years, back in Ered Luin, he had developed many strong friendships amongst the elves there: the men of his wife’s troop up at the outpost loved him as one of their own and, secretly, he had to admit that he loved them too; those in the Grey Havens knew of him, recognised him and were grateful for the work that he and his wife did to protect their part of Middle-earth. If he walked through the streets of the town, no-one turned to look unless it was to greet him or to offer him a courteous bow. He was a close friend of Elrond, his daughter had married the elf lord, Lostwithiel, and even Thranduil showed him considerable respect when they met. He was very comfortable in his environment.

But, now, the ship was full of elves that were not known to him and, during the course of the day, many of them came on deck just to stare at him. Thorin was furious and, if he had had the strength to rise from his bed, then many of them would have found themselves with bloody noses.

Tauriel calmed him. “They will learn to know you and to love you in the end.”

“But I’m not a curiosity at a fair,” Thorin growled. “They’re treating me like some strange animal.”

“Well, some of them have never been this close to a dwarf before and it IS quite remarkable that you have been allowed to travel with us to the Undying Lands. They must wonder what it is about you that makes you so exceptional,” said his wife, trying to massage his ego.

But, whatever Tauriel said, Thorin knew that they thought of him as a lesser being and that their rudeness stemmed from, yes, classifying him as a strange animal; not a great warrior, someone who was deserving of respect, but some object of curiosity to pass the time on this dull voyage.

Thorin was relieved when they finally arrived and he managed to walk down the gangplank with only a small amount of support from Tauriel. The new arrivals were all offered accommodation in a beautiful stand of tree houses near the quay and Thorin was able to tolerate this for a short period. But when it came for them to decide where their permanent home should be, Thorin was adamant: he would NOT live in a tree for all eternity, and that was that.

And so, he and Tauriel set off together to check out the lie of the land and the options that they could choose from. Everywhere was beautiful and so no one spot was more lovely than the other. But, did they want to live near the sea or inland, near other settlements or in comparative isolation? In the end, although he thought fondly of his forge at the crossroads, he was persuaded that it was sometimes not a good idea to be too much cut off from others. 

“You’ll have to mix with them sometime, Thorin,” said Tauriel.

“Will I?” he replied sourly. “I somehow think I could survive without them.”

“Well, I can’t,” said Tauriel a bit tartly, “not without my troop to occupy me and keep me company and without visits from Dis or the children.”

And Thorin realised how selfish he was being and looked harder for a compromise.

At last he found it. Set into the side of a pretty, rocky hillside, quite near to a group of tree houses and in an area not far from the sea, he found a cave. It ran some way back into the hill but it had a large opening that let in a lot of light. From there, he could see down to the harbour in the distance.

“Look, Tauriel,” he said excitedly, “we would be able to see the ships arriving and go and check them out when they came in.”

“Thorin, my love,” she said gently, “they won’t come for years.” And he understood who she meant.

“Yes, I know,” he said stubbornly, “but we could go down to the quay and ask for news of Middle-earth.”

“Well,” said Tauriel doubtfully, “I suppose it’s a lovely spot, but I don’t know if I want to live in a cave.”

“You will,” he grinned, “when I tell you my plans for it.”

And he sat her down and drew some diagrams with a stick in the dirt and, by the time he had finished, she was convinced. He wanted the elves to build them a tree house on the ground, a lovely extension that jutted out from the cave entrance so that they could live in both the dark and the light, inside both a habitation of stone and one of curving, twisting branches. And, to one side, he would build his own forge, “where I can make beautiful things for my beautiful wife,” he smiled.

“Perfect,” breathed Tauriel. “It reminds me a little of Bag End. I think we’ve found our new home.”

.o00o.

Tauriel employed elven carpenters and joiners straight away to build their house. She also designed a beautiful bed, almost a replica of the one they had owned back at the forge. Thorin kept himself busy designing dwarven furniture decorated with typical carving which was also an echo of that from their old home.

“You talk to them, Tauriel,” he said, handing over his drawings. “I’m sure they won’t be happy about things.” And the elven craftsmen weren’t, complaining that they couldn’t possibly bring themselves to create furniture that was so barbaric and ugly. But, Tauriel dug in her heels and, in the end, they reluctantly agreed.

As the house was built, Tauriel remained in the tree house for much of the day, creating, designing and putting together her new soft furnishings. Thorin went up to the hill site, occasionally to direct the elves, but mainly to keep well out of their way whilst he dug a new garden. His strength had almost completely returned and the steady digging, raking and planting helped him well on his way to recovery. Soon, he was bronzed by the sun and as fit as ever.

In a remarkably short space of time, their home was ready (what was it about the strange flow of time in these elven places?) and Thorin and Tauriel prepared to move in. As they rode up the hill together and the house came into view, they looked at each other and smiled.

“It looks so pretty,” Tauriel said. And it did. The extension at the cave’s mouth was made of pale, polished wood, all twisted and carved in intricate patterns and the roof was covered in rustic-looking shingles. The arched entrance door, made of oak, looked strong but inviting. The garden, to the front and to one side, was already growing and the burgeoning flowers and vegetables softened the raw, new edges of the place. 

To the other side of the house was a stable block with a guest room tacked on the end. “I can’t see us having many guests,” Thorin had grunted.

The dwarf drew out a large key from his pocket and opened the door and then he grinned and swept Tauriel off her feet and into his arms. “What are you doing?” she giggled.

“Carrying you over the threshold of our new home,” he said.

Inside the extension was a delightful living-room with comfortable dwarven furniture gathered around a stone fireplace at one end and a dining-table at the other. A pleasant and well-equipped kitchen led off from there. It was not as large or as fine as the main room of the forge but it had a quaint intimacy that was very appealing.

“You can put me down now,” said Tauriel.

“I don’t think so,” responded the dwarf.

And then he carried her through into the cave section which served as an interesting and lofty bedchamber. The elves had built cupboards into all the nooks and crannies and the floor was covered in sweet-smelling grass matting. The large bed was positioned in the centre of the cave and the elf couldn’t help but think that it sat there very nicely.

“You can put me down now,” she whispered again. And this time he gently lowered her to her feet and began to unbutton her clothes. It had been a long time. His injuries had been very painful and the tree house down by the harbour had just felt – wrong. But now Thorin had his own home – even his own cave – and he felt more than ready.

He lifted her onto the luxurious feather bed and then flung off his own clothes. They lay together, gazing quietly into each other’s eyes.

“We have all eternity,” said Tauriel softly.

“And even all eternity would never be enough,” he answered and he lowered his lips to hers.

.o00o.

Pt II 

For the first few days, Thorin and Tauriel just enjoyed being in their new home. They made love, they tended the garden, they ate cake and drank tea on the outside bench whilst quietly admiring the view. Then Thorin began work on his new forge.

“Do you know what I shall miss most?” he said to Tauriel.

“No, tell me,” his wife replied.

“I shall miss making swords. They were so intricate and beautiful. But, we have no enemies here and no cause to fight. I feel sorry about that.” And he lovingly stroked his sword, Orcrist, as it lay on the dining-table. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” laughed the elf, knowing her husband’s temper.

“Well, I suppose I might punch the noses of some of those elves – but I can’t see me using a sword ever again.” And he sighed.

But, tools broke and had to be replaced, horses needed to be shod and everyone liked beautiful things. Most of all, Thorin needed to be kept busy. And so, he started to build a forge.

It had to be built in stone because of the fire hazard and, fortunately, there was a small quarry quite close to the house. Every day, Thorin took his horse and a wooden sled up to the quarry and then tugged a pile of stones back to the house on the sled. Quite a few large stones were lying around loose but he also took a pick-axe and a spade with him so that he could dig out some more. Then when he had a pile at a spot between the house and the stables, he sat down to shape them and, after he had a load of suitably shaped stones, he started the process all over again. He could have asked the elves to build the forge but he had plenty of time and he didn’t want their interference nor did he want them on his property any more.

But he got them whether he wanted them or not.

From the very first day that he started working on the forge, Thorin had an audience of young elves who sat on a mound a short distance from the stables and watched his every move. Tauriel reckoned they were only a hundred years old or so – the equivalent of about 13-17 in man years. He tried to remember that they were hardly more than children and kept telling himself to ignore them.

But they came day after day and their fixed stares were beginning to get him down. In the end, one of them spoke.

“You’re not very good at shaping those stones, are you?” said one youth.

“That’s because I’m not a mason,” said Thorin curtly.

“Well, why do you want a pile of old stones, anyway?” said another.

“To build a forge,” Thorin answered even more shortly.

They absorbed that for a bit. Then: “Are you a smith, then?”

“Yes.”

Another silence.

“My father says that lots of dwarves are smiths on Middle-earth.”

No answer. Then, after a long pause: “Why are you such a funny shape?” the first one asked.

Thorin felt like throwing his chisel at them and chasing them away. But: “In what way, funny?” he said. It was a hot day and he was stripped to the waist.

“Well, your hands are very big. And your arms and your chest and your shoulders are so broad.” The youth looked at him hard, his head cocked on one side, examining Thorin as if he were a specimen in a tray. “And your muscles are enormous,” he added.

Thorin lay down his tools carefully, stood up straight, examined his hands and said: “All the better for strangling you with.” And then he took one step forward. Two of the fascinated girls in the group screamed and ran away and, after a moment, the youths ran after them.

Well, they scare easy enough, thought Thorin and he went back to his work.

He was left to himself the next day and he thought that his threat had done the trick. But, the following day, they began to drift back. And, for a further day, none of them said anything.

Then: “I’d like black hair,” said one of the girls. “It would make me different. And curly would be good too.”

Were they trying to be nice, Thorin wondered? He couldn’t understand why they had come back. Wasn’t there anything else more interesting they could do with their time? And then he thought that there probably wasn’t. What was the point of learning to use a sword or a bow when there were no evil orcs to fight? That had been his greatest entertainment when he had been a youth. And there had been a purpose. He supposed their only alternative was learning to play the harp or taking singing lessons or writing poetry. Now that WAS a hardship, he thought.

And so he put his tools down again and they all looked anxious and rose to their feet, ready to take flight.

“I’m going up to the quarry again,” he said. “Who wants to help me?”

Much to his amazement, they all stepped tentatively forward and then they trailed behind him up to the quarry, helped him load his sled and then trailed back again. When they went to sit down, he produced some more hammers and chisels. “And which of you,” he said, “would like to learn to be a bad mason like me?” Thorin was nearly trampled in the rush and they had to take turns with the tools. Soon it became a competition to see who could produce the best work and win Thorin’s praise.

“Well, you’ll soon be better than me,” said the dwarf, “although that doesn’t take much beating.” And they all grinned.

At lunchtime, Tauriel, noticing what was going on, brought out a tray of food and drinks which made everyone quite sociable. “I’m making terrific progress with all this help,” said Thorin. “I’ll be able to start on the actual building soon.” And, later that afternoon, he marked out where the forge was going to stand and they all promised that they would return with a spade the following day to help him dig out the foundations. And then, with a cheerful wave, they were gone.

.o00o.

“You clever, clever dwarf,” said Tauriel as she lay in Thorin’s arms that night. “The way that lot have been running around after you all day like puppies at your heels, anyone would think you were charming them with some magic wand. It’s one way of getting your forge finished quickly and for free, I suppose.”

“Honestly, Tauriel,” he said, “I would much rather do it without their help. But, since I seem unable to shake them off or frighten them away, I thought they could at least be useful.”

“Well,” said Tauriel, holding on to him tightly, “since you’re not going to shake me off or frighten me away either, perhaps I can be useful too.” And the suggestions that she whispered into his ear were much, MUCH more useful than any others that had been made to him during the whole course of that day.

.o00o.

Pt III

The next day, as they had promised, the young elves all turned up with spades and set to, enthusiastically digging trenches for the foundations. But, they had nowhere near Thorin’s strength and soon gave up and lay gasping on the ground. Thorin soldiered on.

“How do you do that?” one of them asked.

“You need exercise to build up your strength,” he said, and this time they admired rather than scorned the muscles rippling and flexing under his skin.

“What sort of exercises?” the same youth continued.

“Mainly weapons training,” he replied. “That started in my childhood and now smithing keeps me fit. Surely you trained with sword and bow when you lived in Middle-earth?”

“Oh, we’ve never lived in Middle-earth,” said a girl, “and that’s why we’ve never learned to use weapons.”

Thorin stopped his digging, his mouth open. And so she continued: “After the last Alliance of Elves and Men…..”

“….and Dwarves,” he interrupted.

“Oh, really? Well, all right then. But after that Alliance, many elves made their way to the Grey Havens to take ship. We were a much diminished people. And our parents were among them. We were born here.”

My goodness, thought Thorin. The tedium of it all. No wonder they had come to watch him dig holes.

“What weapons did you use?” asked one of the older ones called Evanuil, his eyes glowing with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to use a sword but my father says there’s no point.”

“Wait a moment,” said Thorin and he disappeared into the house and came back with his axe, dwarven bow and Orcrist.

They all gathered around excitedly. “Don’t push,” he said. Then they wondered at the loveliness of the elven blade. “I found it in a troll hoard,” he explained. “She’s a real beauty.”

“Trolls! You’ve seen trolls!” exclaimed Favreen, the young girl, excitedly.

“Yes, and orcs and wargs and dragons,” he grinned. “Well, at least one dragon.”

They dashed to their mound and sat down, their arms clasped around their knees, their eyes lifted expectantly to his face. Thorin raised an enquiring eyebrow. “This is our story circle,” said little Perin. “Aren’t you going to tell us all about it?”

Well, perhaps he could, thought Thorin. He needed a break. And so he sat on a large block of stone and told them all about the dragon, Smaug, and how he and his fellow dwarves had gone on a great adventure to reclaim his kingdom. And he did all the voices.

“So, you’re a king?” breathed Evanuil, his face alight.

“Not any more,” laughed Thorin. “I’m a smith now.” And, it was at this point that Tauriel brought out lunch for everyone.

As they sat eating, Seleth, the youngest, produced a harp from his bag. He pulled a face. “I’ve got singing lessons later this afternoon and I need to practise, if you don’t mind.” They gestured to him to go ahead but with little enthusiasm.

“What! Don’t you like singing and songs?” asked Thorin in surprise.

“We’d like it more if we didn’t have lessons day in and day out,” groaned Favreen and Thorin could understand that.

They listened to Seleth sing his song, adequately enough, and gave him a smattering of applause. He was just about to return his harp to his bag when Thorin reached out his hand for it. “Shall I sing you a song about the dragon, Smaug?” he asked.

Seleth looked at the dwarf’s big hands and was hesitant. “You won’t break it?” he asked.

“Trust me,” said Thorin. And then he played and sang his Misty Mountain song.

“You’re GOOD,” exclaimed Evanuil, as amazement and admiration showed on every face. “Did an elf write that?”

“Certainly not,” snorted Thorin indignantly. “I composed it after the attack on my home.”

“I’d like to learn that one,” said Seleth. “Have you got it written down somewhere?”

“No,” said Thorin. “We dwarves make it up as we go along. It just comes to us.”

“But, don’t you have lessons?” Seleth persisted. “We all have lessons.”

“No, you’re either good at singing and playing or you’re not. No-one’s forced to do it if they don’t want to.”

Seleth gave an envious sigh. “You mean, if I were a dwarf, I wouldn’t have to sing?”

“That’s about the size of it,” laughed Thorin.

They managed to finish the foundations that day and, before they went home, the youngsters gathered around to examine Thorin’s weapons again. Evanuil tried to lift Thorin’s axe but gasped in amazement when he could hardly shift it. So, Thorin made them all sit down on the mound whilst he gave them a demonstration of how dwarves fought with both axe and sword. They gawped as he seemed to lift both weapons with casual ease and then spun on the spot, whirling them above his head.

“An elf could never do that,” said Seleth in wide-eyed admiration.

“I beg to differ,” laughed Thorin. “I used to help train some of Tauriel’s elven troops who were stationed near the Grey Havens and a couple of them were so determined to emulate me that, in the end, they succeeded – and they did it quite well too. There’s no reason why, young elfling, that, with the right training, you couldn’t fight with sword and axe too.”

And Seleth stared at Thorin in total hero-worship. “Could you train me?” he asked.

“And me….and me!” yelled the others.

“Perhaps,” said Thorin, reluctantly. Then, happy with his response, they all trooped down the hill towards their tree houses, chattering with animation.

.o00o.

“Well,” said Tauriel in bed that night, “it looks as though you’ve found yourself a job.” And she laughed.

“What? Training up all those young elves?” he muttered. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“Like what?” she smiled. She knew that Thorin secretly felt pleased that they had asked for his help.

“Like this,” he murmured, snuggling up to her and undoing the buttons on her nightgown.

“Oh,” she retorted, “that’s something to do during the night shift. But I think that a bit of training would help to keep you occupied during the day and give you a break from your smithing. It should make you popular with the neighbours as well.”

“Ah,” he said, “but all I really care about is making myself popular with you.”

And, after an hour or more of enthusiastic and athletic work on his night shift, Tauriel had to admit that his popularity with her had gone up several points at least.

.o00o.

Pt IV

Unfortunately, Thorin’s generous offer of help did NOT make him popular with the neighbours. As he started work on building the walls of his forge the following day, he was surprised that there was no sign of his young friends.

An hour passed and, suddenly, half a dozen stern-looking elf lords strode up the hill towards him. They were armed and their hands rested on the pommels of their swords. Thorin realised at once that they must be veterans of the Last Alliance. Better not mess with them, he thought. Mortals were still mortal, even here, and, shoving a stone into place, he turned politely to greet them. At their rear and hovering apprehensively at a distance, he noticed the young elves and wondered what the problem was.

The elf lords, adopting a confrontational stance, stopped in front of him.

“Thorin Oakenshield?” snapped one.

“Yes,” replied Thorin mildly, wiping his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?” His sword and axe lay to hand, waiting for the lesson he had promised. His fingers itched to reach out and pick them up but he controlled the urge.

The lead elf lord seemed to be controlling himself too and his lips twisted in anger.

“Now what have I done?” thought Thorin with a sigh.

“How dare you!” the elf finally spluttered. Thorin raised a questioning eyebrow which seemed to inflame him more than ever.

“How dare you use our children as slave labour to build your forge! How dare you corrupt them with talk of battles and fighting and death! How dare you teach them your barbaric songs and lure them away from their lessons with promises of teaching them how to use a dwarven axe!”

A mixture of anger and despair surged through Thorin but he faced the wrathful faces quietly. “I was sent here by the elves of Middle-earth. I have as much right to be here as you. Is this the proper way to treat a neighbour?”

“Dwarf!” spat the elf, “You are not here at MY invitation. Any vote of mine would not have been cast in your favour. You do not belong here; you are not one of us. And even after so short a time, you are causing trouble with our young people. Our sons and daughters have been forbidden any contact with you and we forbid you to have contact with them.” And then the elves turned on their heels, herding the gathered group of youngsters before them whilst the elflings looked back apologetically and regretfully over their shoulders.

Thorin stood there for a while, watching their retreating backs and then he sat down on a stone and rested his head tiredly in one large hand. Tauriel came out then: “And what was all that about?” she asked. But Thorin didn’t reply. Instead, he got up and stomped off into the house and into the bed chamber, banging the door behind him.

Tauriel gave him time to get over things but when, after two hours, he hadn’t emerged, she quietly opened the bedroom door and peeked inside. Thorin was lying with his face to the cave wall, his back to the door. She eased herself onto the bed and slipped her arm about his waist.

“I should never have come here,” he said. “I knew that they wouldn’t want me – that I wouldn’t fit in. I cannot bear it.” And then he closed his eyes and fell silent.

After a few hours of this, Tauriel got up to make some food but when Thorin still lay, silent and unmoving upon the bed, she began to feel worried. It was as if her husband had been drained of all his usual driving energy. When she spoke, he didn’t answer but lay as one dead, lifeless and still.

Tauriel was normally slow to anger but, in defence of the man she loved, her terrible elven wrath began to rise. She tried to be rational but, in the end, she marched down the hill to the tree houses where the families concerned came from. 

The elf lords and their families were seated in their gardens, enjoying the evening air when Tauriel descended upon them. She called them to her and addressed them in scathing terms.

“Well, that was very brave of you,” she said. “Six armed elves accosting one unarmed dwarf who is quietly going about his own business on his own property. He must make you all feel very inadequate for some reason.”

“Going about his own business!” snorted one of them in reply. “More likely interfering in ours and taking advantage of our young people!”

Tauriel spun towards the youngsters who were listening with apprehensive interest to the conversation.

“Did he approach you first or did you approach him?” she asked sharply.

“Ummm, we approached him,” said Evenuil, looking a bit embarrassed and shuffling his feet.

“Tell me about it,” she said.

“Well, we heard that a dwarf had moved in up the hill and we – umm – we had never seen one before and so we went for a look.”

“As if he were some strange exhibit,” Tauriel snapped.

“Well, he did look a bit weird to us at first and so we just sat on that mound and watched him.”

“And, if someone had watched you all day, how would you have felt?”

“Angry, I suppose,” mumbled Evenuil.

“And did my husband get angry with you?”

“Umm, no, he just ignored us and carried on.”

“And what happened the next day?” pursued Tauriel.

Evenuil flushed and muttered something. “Speak up,” said his father angrily.

“We started being rude to him, like, you know, asking why he was such a weird shape.”

His father rolled his eyes and Tauriel asked: “And?”

“And he pretended he was going to strangle us. I could see he was joking – just to get rid of us – but the girls screamed and ran away and so we followed.”

“And so, I suppose,” said Tauriel, “you kept away from him after that.”

“Er, no. It was fun and so we went back a couple of days later.” He flinched as his father let out an expletive.

“But,” said the youngster, looking up earnestly, “we tried to be nice to him. And then he asked us if we wanted to help and we did.”

“So, he didn’t press-gang you into doing his work for him?” asked Tauriel.

“No,” said the lad. “In fact, I think we were more of a nuisance to him than a help. He could see we were bored and I think it was his way of being kind to us. We asked him to tell us stories of Middle-earth and he did. They were good. And when Seleth sang a song, he sang one too and that was REALLY good. And when he told us how he and you had helped to defend Middle-earth, we asked about his weapons and he showed them to us. Mind you, no chance we’d ever learn to use a dwarven axe – we couldn’t even lift it.”

“And did he waste a lot of time entertaining you instead of building his forge?” asked Tauriel.

“Umm, yes. I think we were really getting in his way but he was very kind to us.”

His father turned to Tauriel and bowed. “I think we may have jumped to some wrong conclusions about your husband,” he said. “Leave things to me. I think I need to have a few words with my son and his friends.”

Tauriel wasn’t mollified but she nodded her head sharply and returned to her home. Thorin still lay unmoving in bed. She told him that the elf-lords had misunderstood the situation and regretted their manner, but it made no difference. It was as if she hadn’t spoken and Tauriel was in despair.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and she found all the youngsters standing anxiously on the threshold. “We’ve come to apologise,” said Evenuil. “Our parents got hold of the wrong end of the stick and we were too ashamed of our behaviour to put them right. Can we see him?”

“He’s very upset,” Tauriel told them, looking rather weepy, “and he won’t come out of his room or even get up from his bed. It’s all had a very bad effect on him.”

The youngsters whispered together in a huddle and then Seleth drew out his harp.

“Can we stand outside his bedroom door and sing to him?” asked Evenuil. “He might like that.”

Tauriel smiled wanly at the suggestion: “Yes, perhaps he might,” she said.

And so they stood in a circle and sang Thorin’s Misty Mountain song. They did it in elven style but the harmonies were very beautiful even if it did sound different. Thorin lay on his bed and the sad, slow melody wrapped itself around him and brought back a thousand poignant memories. It lifted rather than depressed his spirit and, as the singers reached the last verse, his lethargy began to evaporate.

When they had finished, Thorin came to the door. “That was lovely,” he said. “It made me feel as if I was back home in the dwarven halls of Erebor.” And then he came out and they all sat down whilst Tauriel made them a nice cup of tea.

“Can we come again tomorrow?” they asked tentatively. “Our parents don’t mind. And we’ll do our best to help. And….umm…….we’d really like some weapons training, you know, just for the fun of it, if you’ve got time.”

And Thorin laughed and said that it was a deal.

.o00o.

“I love you, Thorin,” said Tauriel later that night as she wound him in her arms. “But don’t you EVER frighten me like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly in her ear. “For a few hours, I really thought I couldn’t cope with this place. But, I should have known that I could cope with anything with you by my side.”

“Well, it looks as though you’ve got a job for all eternity with these young elves. They think the world of you,” she smiled.

“They’ll help me pass the time until my own children come home,” he said quietly.

“How about we pass the time together, my love?” she suggested. And then she seized his plaits and pulled his lips down upon her own.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next episode: So, What Happened Next……..? This was originally written as the last chapter where I tie up all the loose ends. But, I then found I still had an awful lot to say about the Oakenshield family, starting off with various stories about Poppy and her life on Middle-earth without her father and then following her and her brother to Valinor where they are finally reunited with Thorin and Tauriel. And THEN, I have a million chapters which recount what happens to them all there. I’d love it if you decide to stick with these stories until the very end.


	28. So, What Happened Next?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, dear readers, this episode, when I first wrote these stories, was a sort of epilogue for Thorin in which I described what happened to Thorin’s family and friends after their sad return from the Grey Havens when his ship had sailed into the West. But, I couldn’t let go and I wrote another rather weird Thorin story followed by several more about the early years of Poppy and Lostwithiel’s marriage. Then I finally wrote a postscript for Lostwithiel when the whole Oakenshield family get on the ship which takes them into the West and a reunion with T&T……... And, even then, I wasn’t finished.
> 
> It is difficult to know exactly where to put this epilogue-y thing since so much to be found in these episodes overlap. And so I have decided to leave it where I wrote it.
> 
> I’d like to give a big thank you to everyone who has doggedly read all my stories so far.

So, What Happened Next?

When they got back to the forge from the Grey Havens, Rose and Telbarad, Poppy and Lostwithiel, Arion, Dis, Bilbo and Elrond sat silently and sadly for a long while. Then, with a collective sigh, they got up and looked around for places to sleep.

Rose, Poppy and Dis peered into Thorin and Tauriel’s bedroom and gazed at the beautiful bed.

“I can’t sleep in their bed,” said Poppy.

“Neither can I,” said Rose. “It belonged to them and it would seem wrong somehow.”

“I don’t mind,” said Dis. “It will make me feel closer to them.” And then, for the first time, she wept when she thought she would never see her brother and Tauriel again. And Rose wrapped her arms around her because she knew how Dis felt.

Then, the two couples took over the guest bedrooms and Arion, Bilbo and Elrond slept in the single rooms that had once belonged to the children in the main part of the house.

Rose and Telbarad slowly sank onto the feather mattress and the Ranger took his wife gently in his arms. “Hold me, Telbarad,” she said. “I cannot bear to think that he has gone.” And she murmured late into the night, telling him the whole story of how she had met Thorin and all about their life together at the forge. And she laughed and she wept and she finally fell asleep upon her husband’s broad chest. He had never heard the Rose/Thorin saga from beginning to end and he was very moved. And he thanked the dwarf in his heart because Thorin had saved Rose and had saved Rose for him.

As the sun crept through the windows, they awoke and made love. “I want a child,” said Rose, “and, if it’s a boy, I shall call him Thorin.”

The morning drew on and everyone sadly packed their gear; then they embraced each other and went their several ways. Dis, Elrond and Bilbo set off together; Rose and Telbarad accompanied them part of the way as they journeyed North; Poppy and Lostwithiel returned to the outpost to share the news with the troop and Arion stopped behind to tidy up and lock the forge behind him.

The elves at the outpost were stunned when they heard of the orc attack and the passing of their captain and her husband to the Undying Lands. They tried to comfort Poppy then drifted around aimlessly until Lostwithiel called them to order and gave them jobs to do to occupy their minds. The elf lord seemed to square his shoulders and was determined that all the hard effort that Thorin and Tauriel had put into the outpost should not be wasted.

A few of the men offered to help him and Poppy get their new house in order and, by the end of the day, it was fit enough for them to move into it. Their first night there was a miserable one and they lay awake until the dawn thinking of what they had lost. Thorin had loomed so large in Lostwithiel’s life that his absence created a giant hole. “Your father was always breathing down my neck,” he said to Poppy, “but it was good to feel the heat of his breath upon my back. He drove me forward and now I feel rudderless without him.”

Poppy understood. “But,” she said, “you still have a purpose here. The outpost is a vital defence in this part of the world and you must do your best to keep it going. Elrond was afraid of something – and it wasn’t just orcs. You must prepare for the day, whatever it brings.”

“Yes,” said the elf lord. “And when the evil day comes, I hope not to fall in battle because I would like to see my captain again, not to mention that grumpy father of yours, when we also take ship into the West.”

Poppy smiled at the thought of their eventual reunion and they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Arion lingered longer than necessary at the forge but he finally closed all the shutters and locked the doors behind him. Then, with a heavy heart, he also set out for the farmhouse. It was a fine, clear day and, as he climbed the hills, he dismounted and sat on a ridge to eat a snack and gaze out at the view. The awful thing was, he thought, his parents had always been there – and now they weren’t. Who would advise him? Who would help him? Whose shoulder would he cry on? And, most of all, who would now love him unconditionally? He closed his eyes in exhaustion and grief, lay back on the grass and fell asleep.

He awoke when something wet touched him and he opened his eyes to find Warg licking his cheek. Arion buried his face in the fur of the beast’s neck. The two of them sat quietly for a long time together until, finally, Arion stood and gave Warg one last hug and sent him on his way. His pet had always understood him and he was the one who now would always be there. He would come when he was needed and this thought brought a feeling of calm and stillness to Arion’s heart. 

.o00o.

And so, what happened to them all?

Lostwithiel was appointed as the new captain of the outpost and was admired by all for his excellent work. Poppy became a renowned hostess in the area and people for miles around were delighted if they were invited to one of her parties. But, after five years, she had a baby girl whom they called Rose – or Rosie, to distinguish her from her aunt. She seemed to change then and Lostwithiel built the house by the sea on the plot they had bought years earlier and they spent all their spare time there, just the three of them, quietly enjoying the view and the cry of the gulls and the sound of the waves upon the shore. Poppy felt as though she were waiting for that day when she would set sail in a ship for the Undying Lands and she would be reunited with her parents once more.

But, it was not yet time. Some evil was looming which they must all withstand; nor did she want to say goodbye to Rose whilst her sister still lived. 

Poppy saw Rose quite regularly for some years because her sister and the Ranger had two children, a boy called Thorin and a girl called Tauriel. She decided not to take them to Rivendell but moved back to the forge where she became a famous smith. Dis packed her bags and moved in with Rose to help with the children and keep her company. Telbarad managed to visit Rose and the children with reasonable frequency but Rose missed him terribly and decided that, when Tauriel was fourteen and Thorin was sixteen, they would all move back to the camps in the North. Both children wanted to be Rangers and had done a certain amount of training with Lostwithiel up at the outpost but they also wanted desperately to be reunited with their father.

But, a year before that day came, Dis fell sick and died. Rose nursed her and held her hand as she slipped quietly away. “I shall soon see my sons,” were the last words she spoke and she smiled. But they were all very upset and it just wasn’t the same without her.

The cousins, Rosie, Thorin and Tauriel, together with Beren, the young son of Challis and Lithin, played a lot together as they grew up and they proved to be as daring and as naughty as the adult Rose had been. It was quite hard for them all to part when Tauriel and Thorin finally set out for the North with their mother. But that was the way of things in Middle-earth and all they could do was promise to visit each other as much as possible.

As the years passed, the brother and sister became acclaimed warriors on the borders, along with Cat, who had travelled North after her beloved adoptive father, Barnaby Waller, had died. Meanwhile, their cousin, Rosie, and their friend, Beren, joined Lostwithiel at the outpost. 

Arion never got married but became Lostwithiel’s second in command and, as the evil closed in, the people were glad for the presence of the children and descendants of that strange union between Thorin Oakenshield, the dwarf, and Tauriel, the elf.

And what of Warg? Lostwithiel’s cheerful assumption that the creature couldn’t count happily proved to be true and, for a long time, Arion saw him on a regular basis. Sometimes he came rushing to his aid at times of danger; but, he would also slip quietly into a glade where Arion was on sentry duty and help him pass the long watches of the night. Then, twenty years after Thorin and Tauriel’s departure into the West, late one evening when Arion was on guard, he appeared and sat down next to him. He looked old and tired but he sat with his former master until the dawn. Then he licked his friend’s cheek and loped away, never to be seen again. It was then that Arion felt truly alone and was deeply grateful for this odd friendship that had grown between boy and beast.

Thirty years from the time that Rose took her family north, the War of the Ring finally broke out and her two children and Cat set off to support Estel in his fight against Sauron. By the time they returned victorious and Estel was crowned king, Rose was an elderly and well-loved lady. The camps in the North and the outpost of Ered Luin were finally abandoned and Rose and Telbarad returned to the forge with Cat and their children. 

Rose and Cat were too late to say goodbye to Roger who had died six months earlier. In middle age, he had married a pretty but scatter-brained young woman who had, however, supplied him with an heir and a spare to inherit Barnaby’s wealth. 

Then they found that they had only a year together before Rose also died, surrounded by her family, and, for all of them, it was a signal that the time had come for their lives to change once more.

Telbarad was heart-broken and lost without Rose, and so he set off with his children and Cat for Minas Tirith where they spent the rest of their days at the court of Estel and his queen, Arwen Half-elven. Before they left, they gave the forge to the dwarf, Darri, who, like Arion, had also never married, and people felt lucky that they had yet another fine smith at the crossroads. But, the last of the ships were leaving the Grey Havens and Lostwithiel, Poppy, Arion and Rosie knew that their time had come.

.o00o.

And what about Thorin who, for years, had been living amongst all those elves? Well, the Undying Lands had not only restored him to full health but also to his youthful vigour. He could not bear to idle away his immortality and so he had set up a forge where he made exquisitely beautiful things. The elves were at first amused by him and then impressed. He had a feeling for beauty that they could all understand. 

He did not know if he were happy or not. His love for Tauriel was just as strong as it had ever been, his passion unflagging, and he enjoyed exploring his new home with her. It was a lovely place, seemingly a combination of all the best bits of Middle-earth, but he missed his children and he even missed Lostwithiel. He was annoyed with himself that he wasn’t grateful – or grateful enough, perhaps – for this second chance that had been given him, but he felt as though he were waiting.

Fortunately, just like his experience in Rivendell, time passed quickly and smoothly in this strange land. As the ships arrived more frequently with elven refugees and news of the War of the Ring, Thorin and Tauriel spent many hours sitting on the quay. Some of the ships carried passengers whom they recognised, such as Thranduil together with the Mirkwood elves. Thorin was so pleased to see an old face that he even let Thranduil kiss his wife. The elven king had grinned: “It seems the air here has mellowed you, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said.

But, there was still no sign of Elrond or either of his children.

Then the news spread that the last ship would soon be arriving in the Undying Lands. Anxiously, they waited on the quay.

“What if they don’t come?” asked Thorin.

“They will,” said Tauriel.

At last, the ship docked. And, first to disembark were Gandalf and Elrond, along with a number of the Rivendell elves who had waited with him. They embraced Thorin warmly and Gandalf said: “You have missed a great adventure, old friend.”

And then, to Thorin and Tauriel’s delight, down the gangplank came the troop of elves from the outpost of Ered Luin; and many tears were shed. They laughed and hugged, then the elves turned Thorin around to see the next two passengers: Bilbo and his nephew, Frodo.

Thorin’s eyes widened. “Like you,” smiled Bilbo at Thorin’s delight, “we have been given special dispensation to take passage on the ships because of the Great Adventure of the Ring. Later, we shall share a pipe or two whilst I tell you all about it.”

And Thorin felt a bubble of happiness rising in him as he gazed around and saw so many of his old companions. Then they turned Thorin and Tauriel back again to face the ship and, finally, down the gangplank came their hearts’ desire: Arion and Poppy, with Lostwithiel walking apprehensively behind them, holding the hand of a beautiful young woman. “Your granddaughter, Rosie,” he said.

Thorin thought his heart would burst as he folded them all in his arms and the tears streamed down his face. Few words were said: that would be for later. But he grasped Lostwithiel warmly by the arm and thanked him for bringing Arion and Poppy and Rosie safely home. “I’ve really missed you, elf,” he muttered gruffly.

And Lostwithiel grinned and said: “One more surprise, Thorin, especially for you.” Then he gestured to the last two passengers disembarking from the ship.

“Legolas!” snorted Thorin. “Why should I be so pleased to see him?”

“Not Legolas,” laughed Lostwithiel, “but his little friend!”

And striding down the plank behind Legolas came a dwarf, Gimli, son of Gloin – that same Gloin who had been Thorin’s companion when they had regained their treasure from the dragon, Smaug.

.o00o.

Thorin’s happiness was then complete, as he told Tauriel for the nth time as they lay in bed together that night. He had another dwarf – and the son of an old friend, at that - with whom to share the long years of immortality.

“Wouldn’t you rather share those years with me?” laughed Tauriel.

“Hmm,” said Thorin with a furrowed brow. “Decisions, decisions.”

Then he drew her tenderly into his arms and kissed her. 

“No contest,” he said.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next episode: Letters to Thorin. I bet none of you guessed that Thorin was Middle-earth’s Agony Aunt, LOL? Now that he has departed for Valinor, the editor of the local rag has gathered together a selection of letters that have been written to him over the years and his thoughtful answers. Hope you enjoy them!


	29. Letters to Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, this is slightly tongue-in-cheek and you’ll understand/enjoy it more if you have read all the other episodes. It’s post-Thorin but I still manage to make it all about Thorin. It describes a little job that Thorin had on the side as a columnist when he lived in Ered Luin. Some of the letters written anonymously must have been a bit teasing/trolling but I believe that many of them were written by people searching for an answer. Perhaps they didn’t realise that “Thorin” was their Thorin. Or, perhaps they did, but had no choice since Thorin was the only Agony Aunt on Middle-earth. Our sweet Thorin, however, seems blissfully unaware that he is acquainted with any of these correspondents and answers as seriously as possible and with furrowed brow, whilst chewing the end of his quill, LOL! What amuses me is how, in many of his answers, he digs a hole for himself and keeps on digging!
> 
> Hope you have a bit of fun trying to guess who the correspondents are.

Letters to Thorin

.o00o.

THE GREY HAVENS FREE PRESS

Editorial: LETTERS TO THORIN

Most of our readers will recognise the name of Thorin Oakenshield who recently departed for the Undying Lands with his wife, Tauriel the Elf. It may come as a surprise to some of you that this Thorin is the same Thorin of our Letters to Thorin page. For many years and at my request, he wrote a column in this publication, initially answering questions on such topics as home security, weapons of Middle-earth and race relations. Interestingly, after only a short time, the nature of these questions from our readers began to change and he started to receive anonymous letters on more personal subjects.

I remember, myself, talking to one of his wife’s men up at the Ered Luin outpost. “What Thorin doesn’t know about love isn’t worth knowing,” he said. And, certainly, this assumption, over the years, seems to have spread throughout Middle-earth. I discussed with Thorin the new type of letter that was suddenly arriving in his in-tray and he cheerfully agreed to give the answers his best shot. Subsequently, his column became one of the most popular sections this newspaper has ever known.

Today sees the publication of a tribute to this fine dwarf. The GHFP has gathered together all of these questions and responses into a slim volume entitled Letters to Thorin. As a taster, we have printed extracts in the Review section on page 13. We miss you, Thorin!

THE EDITOR

Extracts from LETTERS TO THORIN  
Published by Elven Press.  
Hardback edition: 3 silver groats

Letter 1

Dear Thorin

I wonder if you could advise me on the unhappy situation in which I have found myself.

A few years ago, I was asked to work with a new, female boss. She was very efficient and very attractive, but I managed to convince myself that she was a woman of loose morals and, under this misapprehension, made a serious sexual advance on her. I was very lucky that, not only did she not take the matter any further, but she completely forgave me. Today, we have an excellent relationship and I consider her to be a good friend.

Unfortunately, her husband has since found out about this incident. Initially, he beat me up (and, yes, I deserved it) but after speaking to his wife, he has tried to control his feelings. Sadly, he has been unable to forgive me too. My work and my lifestyle bring me into very close association with this family. I admire and like the couple very much and am very fond of their children. But it is causing me great distress that the husband obviously still despises me and is holding me at arm’s length when I feel such remorse for this past incident.

Can you suggest how I can make things better between us? Or should I just accept that things will never change?

Yours 

Bemused of the Blue Mountains

.o00o.

Dear Bemused of the Blue Mountains

I felt so sorry for you when I read your letter. Isn’t it the pits when you make just one mistake in life and then you seem to be punished for it forever? I am so pleased for you that your boss saw fit to forgive you and I regret that her husband cannot do the same. 

I feel your remorse. You obviously wish that you could turn back the clock and start again with this man. But, perhaps it’s time to move on and no longer care so much about what he thinks of you. Unfortunately, he is obviously very uptight about his masculinity and, by your actions, you have threatened his self-esteem, perhaps making him feel inadequate in the bedroom department. Think: are you better-looking, fitter, taller? Any of these things might have lead him to question his relationship with his wife and you have doubtless made him feel very insecure.

If he cannot forgive you, then perhaps he is just not worth knowing. Avoid him as much as you can but try to maintain the friendship and good work relationship that you have with his wife.

Most people - including myself – have received forgiveness after a particularly bad piece of behaviour. The husband appears to me to be quite shallow and I am confident that he is not worth losing sleep over at night.

My best wishes for your future

Thorin 

.o00o.

Letter 2

Dear Thorin

I am the sort of man who has always felt complete confidence in himself. I know who I am, what I think, where I am coming from. I know what I expect from myself and I know what I expect from other people. At least, this has always been the case until I was sent on a mission to foreign parts.

It was then, after being confronted with a different lifestyle and a different way of thinking, that I began to wonder if I didn’t have things wrong after all.

My biggest concern is that this whole journey has not only made me question values I have long held dear but it has also affected my relationship with my betrothed. Sexually, I have always liked to take control and be the dominant partner while my betrothed has always submitted completely to my will. But, now, I feel so disturbed by things I have witnessed elsewhere that I question whether or not we can lead successful sex lives until I have managed to get my thoughts in order. 

Her submissive manner now leaves me completely cold. What I need you to tell me is: will these feelings settle down after I have been at home for a few months or does it mean I should break off my betrothal and go in search of a more dominant partner?

Yours in expectation of a speedy reply

Confused of Rohan

.o00o.

Dear Confused of Rohan

Whoa, there, young man! No hasty decisions, please, until you have explored every avenue! Throwing over your betrothed because she no longer stokes your boiler without finding out why is not a sensible decision. What you need to question is: she did once - why not now? And I think we can feel pretty confident about the whys and the wherefores in this particular case.

You appear to have changed in your needs and desires after being exposed to a different culture and perhaps this change is a permanent one but perhaps not. My personal feeling is that you have suddenly become aware of other possibilities in your sex life and this is what is exciting you.

The sensible solution is that you and your betrothed should get together and have an open and frank discussion about this. Perhaps if you explained your new-found needs to her she might be more than willing to help you out. In fact, she might even find it a more exciting experience herself if she took on the dominant role.

Don’t get into a rut. Try out different things such as role-play - but try it with your current lover. Don’t feel that the search for novelty means finding someone else.

All the best!

Thorin 

.o00o.

Letter 3

Dear Thorin

I have summoned up the courage to write to you because you appear to be the SWEETEST man and I’m sure you will do your best to resolve my problems.

My friends and I read your column every single week and I DO wish there was someone as understanding as you at home. If there were, then perhaps I wouldn’t be in the situation I find myself in now because you obviously listen to EVERY WORD (unlike some people I could mention!)

I am sixteen years old and a very responsible young lady. My father is a wealthy and respected man in the community. I live in an isolated spot with no friends except those I have made in the Grey Havens. These friends are very important to me but, because I don’t live in town, I only get to see them on an infrequent basis.

AND WHEN I DO (and I don’t know if you will believe me or not) my father insists on COMING TOO!!! And I don’t just mean that he escorts me to the door and then picks me up when I come home. I mean he comes INTO the house and sits in a corner at a party, or sits where he can keep an eye on me at The Mithril Crown or accompanies us all to a beach picnic. I feel SO embarrassed and he makes my friends feel really uncomfortable. It’s as if he doesn’t trust any of us. And how can we have even the most innocent fun when someone’s father is there, watching our every move as if he suspected us of getting up to THE most dreadful things?

It’s not as though his presence guarantees my safety even. I was very seriously injured after a fracas involving him and, if he hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have happened!

I’m sure you can see the quandary I am in so please can you offer me some of your WONDERFUL advice?

Lots of love,

Blond and Beautiful XXXXX

PS And he’s very reluctant to buy me a new dress even though he has OODLES and doesn’t spend it on anything!

.o00o.

Dear Blond and Beautiful

Thank you for writing me such a nice letter. I hope that after all your kind words, my reply lives up to your expectations.

Let’s look at your “PS” first. I think I can conclude straight away from this that your father is a bit of a control freak: he likes to have control of his money and he likes to have control of his family’s movements. I am sure that, at the moment, you manage to wheedle the odd dress out of him and I’m afraid that’s probably how things will have to continue. I expect your ultimate solution is to find a rich and generous man to marry, LOL, but, until then, I think you will have to accept that it is very difficult to change the ways of a born miser.

As far as your father’s presence at all your get-togethers with your friends is concerned…….Well, I must admit that his attitude leaves me open-mouthed and cringing. You have my full sympathies. You have got to talk to him – sensibly and rationally – about his attitude. No raised voices, please! And I’d also like to suggest that you have a long conversation with your mother first. I’m sure she will back you and soften him up a little before you corner him on this issue. We men are putty in our wives’ hands, you know, and a combined pincer movement is likely to be effective.

Another suggestion is that you ask the most responsible lad in your circle to have a word with him and to assure him that he is keeping an eye on you. I’m sure this will give him considerable confidence in your friends.

But, lastly, can I say that you must remember what lies at the bottom of all this: it is a father’s love for a daughter and his concern and care for you.

I hope you make progress with this untenable situation and that you can both come to some kind of compromise.

Best wishes from someone who is a dad himself.

Thorin X

.o00o.

Letter 4

Dear Thorin

I am in a terrible quandary but I can imagine that many of your readers will have no sympathy for me.

When I was a younger woman, I had no end of suitors. And I must say, without being unduly modest, that I was - and still am - a very attractive person. In the end, I married twice but, sadly, both of my husbands have died. After the death of my second, I sat down and thought of a young suitor whom I had – rather cruelly – rejected and suddenly realised that, if I were to marry again, he would be the one. He seemed like only an inadequate youth when I was first looking for a husband but he has since grown into a very handsome and desirable man.

Unfortunately, this realisation may have come too late in the day because the object of my desire has recently married someone else. However, by a strange twist of fate, his wife has just employed me to help her with the new baby. She is finding motherhood heavy going and I am much better with her delightful son than she is herself.

Of course, I am regularly thrown into the path of her husband and we are often alone together. And I know it is not my imagination when I say that I believe he is still in love with me and realises he has made a mistake in marrying this woman.

So, what should I do? Should I pursue him, even though it may ultimately mean the break-up of his marriage? Should I just indulge in a quiet affair with him? Or should I pack my bags and leave this minute?

Unfulfilled of Ered Luin

.o00o.

Editor’s Note: We had so many letters concerning this question that we have decided to publish the responses of some of our readers before we let you know what Thorin has to say on the matter.

.o00o.

Response 1

Go for it, U of EL! You only live once! Your old suitor has obviously made a mistake and is waiting for you to give him a signal. Take him to your bed and then see what happens next. If it breaks up his marriage, then at least two out of three people will be happy. At the moment, I can imagine that three people are feeling rather wretched because his wife must realise that something in her marriage just isn’t working properly.

Response 2

You selfish woman! You rejected him when he offered you his love and now you expect that you can just march into his marriage and destroy it with your self-centred desires. I hope his wife catches on and kicks you out!

Response 3

Hmmm. Love triangles are always difficult because who knows how any of the combinations might eventually work out? How about being adult and suggesting a ménage a trois? The three of you already seem to work well as a team especially the child care aspect. I reckon that something sensible could be arranged here.

Response 4

I’d run off with the woman if I were you. Men are always the problem, never the solution.

.o00o.

Dear Unfulfilled of Ered Luin

I’m afraid that I am finding it rather difficult to answer your letter because everything you have told me is only, of course, from your POV. 

It is completely on your say-so that I am asked to accept that you are a very attractive woman, that the wife is not coping, that you are better at handling the baby, that this man is still in love with you and that he believes he has made a mistake in marrying his wife. If all these things are true – without a shadow of doubt – then perhaps I might advise you to go after this man and hope for a happy ending. But, since so many of us tend to deceive ourselves and only believe the things we want to believe, I am inclined to think that your perceptions might be wrong and that your old suitor has now made his choice and should be left alone to sort out his marriage without your interference.

Yes, pack your bags and go but leave a forwarding address. If he wants you and thinks his marriage has failed then he will come after you. Otherwise, take his rejection on the chin and look for someone who is single and not committed to another woman and their child. 

Yours

Thorin 

.o00o.

Letter 5

Dear Thorin

I have quite a straightforward question here: when someone becomes betrothed, should they feel comfortable about following the long-standing tradition of making up the double bed? I say this because my betrothed and I have been sleeping together since exchanging rings and my father makes it quite clear that he doesn’t like it. 

Should we – just to please him – start retiring to single beds once more and meet up secretly in the woods if we want intimacy? Or is it my father who needs to grow up and give us a bit of space?

Yours in expectation of a sensible response

An Irritated Daughter

.o00o.

Dear Irritated Daughter

I must admit that I am all for following tradition and this one has been with us for so long that no-one can remember its origins. In this respect, I feel you are perfectly entitled to sleep with your betrothed without fear of embarrassment. 

Your father sounds rather uptight and puritanical to me, I’m afraid, and it would be interesting to know what his relationship with your mother was once he became betrothed to her. Perhaps you should put him on the spot and ask him, LOL!

I suppose that there might be some element of jealousy involved here when he sees two young lovers together: perhaps his own love-life is now old and tired. But, I can imagine that, at the bottom of it all, is a father’s over-protectiveness towards his daughter. Try to keep this in mind when you feel annoyed with him. 

My advice to you is just to carry on as if what you are doing is perfectly normal – as I can assure you it is – and I expect that, in the end, he will accept the whole relationship. Just DON’T go sneaking off into the woods. That seems to me to be merely deceitful.

Wishing you many congratulations on your betrothal

Thorin 

.o00o.

Letter 6

Dear Thorin

I have been married for some years now and I love my wife desperately. Our jobs require us both to travel a lot and when we are separated for a few weeks we miss each other to the point of pain.

However, in recent months, I have developed an increasing urge to become a father. And the problem is….? Well, because of our jobs, it would mean that my wife would have to settle with the children some distance from me and we might not see each other for months on end. It has been a difficult decision to make but I have finally concluded that I want children enough to put up with the separation.

Unfortunately, my wife has come to the opposite conclusion. She regularly takes an infusion of fennel to prevent a pregnancy and, no matter how much I have discussed the matter with her, begging and pleading with her to give me a child, she has adamantly refused to agree.

My increasing desperation is such that I have begun to try all sorts of underhand methods to get her pregnant. Whilst we were travelling a few weeks ago, she discovered that she had accidentally left her fennel draught at home. I assured her that I would find some fennel the very next morning if she would agree to make love. And, I did find some. But I lied and told her that there was none in the area. This resulted in her going off to find some of her own a few days later and this unfortunately led to a miscarriage. I cannot tell you how that broke my heart. I blame myself, of course, for the loss of that child. But, not completely. Surely my wife should have been aware of what she might be doing by taking that infusion so late in the day?

As each day goes past, I am growing more and more obsessed with the situation. Becoming a father is now my one aim in life. I find this difficult to confess to you, but my desire for a child is leading me to conclude that the only way I shall ever have one is if I force my attentions upon my wife. She was so upset when she lost the last one that, surely, once she becomes pregnant, her maternal instincts will kick in and she will want to keep the child?

I already feel an awful person for even considering these thoughts in the first place and I hope you won’t rush to pass judgement on me. I just need you to tell me what to do.

Broody Northerner

.o00o.

Dear Broody Northerner

I feel your pain. It is a wonderful thing to become a father and, since my own road to fatherhood was not without difficulties, I understand why you are so upset about this whole business. 

But, listen to yourself! “I have discussed the matter with her…” No, you haven’t. What you mean is: “I have tried to impose my will upon her.” And, when you have failed to get your own way, you have descended into lying and cheating. And now you are even considering violence. Sit back a minute and think. What is happening to your marriage? You are talking about a woman whom you purport to love “desperately”. If you loved her, you would be thinking of ways to nurse her through this crisis rather than forcing her into something she just isn’t ready for. You may get your baby but you will certainly lose her love if you carry on like this.

Now, you need to ask yourself some questions. Has she got maternal instincts? If she has then you’re in with a chance and you must learn to have patience. And, just to encourage her: is it really necessary for her to move so far away with the children that you only see her once in a blue moon? I can imagine that this is what is bothering her the most. Do you not have any parents/inlaws who live closer to your place of work? I know it might be difficult to ask them for help, particularly if they are getting on a bit, but if you discuss your problems with them honestly, I think you’d be surprised at how willing some people might be to muck in and throw open their home to you. Babies and children might even make them feel young again.

You love your wife and she loves you. So, don’t go and spoil it all by doing something stupid. Get on to those relatives straight away!

Yours

Thorin 

.o00o.

Letter 7

Dear Thorin

I am writing to tell you how my life has been destroyed by one man.

I first saw him at a party when I was only a teenager. He was so beautiful and so unlike any other man I had ever seen before. He entertained us with his singing and his voice was so deep and thrilling that my whole body seemed to vibrate along with his harmonies.

I fell in love with him there and then and, fifteen years later, I am still in love with him. And how has he destroyed my life? He has spoiled me for any other man and I can’t stop thinking about him after all this time. 

Unfortunately, he is now married with children. There appears to be no hope for me and the only way out, as far as I can see, is to kill myself. I carry a knife with me everywhere and, one day, I hope I can summon up enough courage to use it.

With love from

Infatuated

.o00o.

Dear Infatuated

No, no, no!! Please don’t talk about suicide when you are so young still and the whole world lies before you. Somehow, you must drive this man from your mind. You have fallen in love with a fantasy image and, if you really got to know him, you might find that he did not live up to your imaginary version of him. 

Try to convince yourself that he just isn’t worth knowing; get out and about more and look for an alternative; unload your thoughts on a trusted friend and listen to their advice; speak to your physician because I’m sure this is a really unhealthy obsession. Even, as a final solution, approach this man and tell him how you have loved him all these years. This last would be, I am sure, a cruel but effective remedy because he would probably recoil from you in shock and disgust. And then, seeing yourself as others see you would doubtless open your eyes and you would realise how you have wasted your life all these years.

My final words? Do ANYTHING rather than kill yourself.

Be safe

Thorin

Editor’s note: Perhaps some readers will remember an incident at a soiree in Barnaby Waller’s house some years ago. “Infatuated” took Thorin’s advice to heart and, rather than kill herself, attempted to kill the object of her passion instead. Being a columnist can sometimes be a dangerous job.

.o00o.

Letter 8

Dear Thorin

I know you will doubtless accuse me of being young and foolish but I think I may be in love with the woman who nearly became my step-mother. When my own mother died, I thought that my father was going to marry this woman. She was very, very kind to me and supported me through this difficult time. 

Eventually, the two decided not to get married after all and, in many ways, I was very disappointed. However, this woman is only slightly older than me and very beautiful. Once I grew up, I did begin to feel a certain physical attraction towards her and I did wonder if anything would happen between us. But she has married someone else and has moved away.

Now, I know her husband is her choice and is nothing to do with me, but I feel very protective of her and I really don’t think this is the man for her. I live in a very tight-knit society from which this man does not come and I have to say that this person is very non-U. I do wonder how long their marriage will last.

The reason why I am writing to you now is because this woman and her family have recently come to visit mine. I was just so thrilled to see her and she was delighted to see me. When I embraced and kissed her, I could see straight away that her husband was very jealous. In fact, he was very jealous of anyone who came anywhere near her. They are off visiting someone else at the moment but will soon be passing through again.

Everyone says that I have a very good sense of humour and I have an overwhelming urge to tease the husband when they return. There are various reasons for doing this: when he reacts badly – as I’m sure he will – it might make her think twice about the person she has married. Secondly, the husband might realise what a cad he is being and his behaviour might improve. And, lastly, for my own selfish pleasure, I suppose that the lady in question might even turn to me for comfort.

Am I being really awful?

Prince of the Forest

.o00o.

Dear Prince of the Forest

“Am I being really awful?” Yes, you jolly well are. And you deserve a good cuff around the ear.

This woman has shown you nothing but kindness and, in return, what are you trying to do to her marriage? Break it up? So that you can get your own feet under the table? How selfish is that? I’m sure she is well aware of her husband’s jealousy – and perhaps she even likes it that way. It might make her feel desirable and wanted. Who knows?

But, to begin at the beginning: you “think” you may be in love with her. I can assure you that you’re not. People often feel drawn to those that help them through difficult times and this is all that has happened here. Time to move on. The physical attraction that you feel for her is only the natural attraction that a young man might feel for a beautiful woman. If you really felt “protective” of her, then you would not be planning to interfere with her marriage

“I live in a very tight-knit society from which this man does not come and I have to say that this person is very non-U.” And how snobbish is that? No wonder she married someone from the “outside” and has moved away from you all! Think on this: which of you is truly the “cad”?

I hope that you will keep your teasing to yourself and not be provocative when this couple returns. If you do tease him and he is, as you say, a very jealous man, then I cannot answer for the consequences. Don’t say that I haven’t warned you!

Yours apprehensively

Thorin 

.o00o.

Letter 9

Dear Thorin

When I first met and married my husband twenty plus years ago, my biggest concern was our age difference since I am a much older woman. I did wonder if the older I got the less attractive he might find me and now I feel that my fears are being realised.

We have always had a very active sex life but for the past year or so this has only amounted to three – or even only two - times a night. I do the best I can: I tug his plaits, I’m into role play, I seldom wear my night gown to bed. But, I am beginning to feel that he doesn’t find me attractive any more and I was wondering if you had any suggestions to make as to how an older woman could increase her sexual magnetism.

Yours

Frustrated at the Crossroads

.o00o.

Dear Frustrated at the Crossroads

You have obviously been an excellent wife all these years and I would hasten to calm your fears. What you have to remember here is that your husband is getting older too and that you should not expect the same level of performance from him as when he was a younger man. 

Now, I know you might not believe my personal opinion that three times a night seems a perfectly adequate number of times for you to be making love. And so, I have checked around the office of the GHFP on the subject. At first all the blokes were a bit taken aback by my question and it obviously embarrassed them to reveal things about their private lives but, in the end, they gave their opinion that three times a night was just about right. The Editor himself said: “Good lord! Three times a night, you say? No, I don’t think the lady has much to worry about there. That seems perfectly fine to me. Yes. Absolutely.”

I hope you take some comfort in this. You appear to have a successful and happy marriage and I sincerely hope that you spend many more happy years together.

Yours 

Thorin 

.o00o.

SPECIAL OFFER: If ordered through our office, LETTERS TO THORIN can be bought at the discount price of 2 silver groats.

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Episode: His Daughter Takes Control. So, how does Poppy manage without the guiding hand of her father? Her marriage is in its first year and she is feeling her way. Now she is the Captain's Lady, will she rise to the occasion?


	30. Thorin's Daughter has a Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy and Lostwithiel have been happily married in their mansion up at the outpost for some years now…….but then she gets pregnant! Oh, if only Thorin were there to sort out the mess!
> 
> And, no, I have not made up all the following stuff about the love-life of the elves. I got it straight from the horse’s (Tolkien’s) mouth, LOL! I will admit to tweaking it a bit for the purposes of this story but I shall leave a footnote at the end justifying myself further.

Thorin’s Daughter has a Baby

Pt 1

Poppy was spending a delightful afternoon with her sister, Rose, and her friend, Challis, an elf from the outpost. She was also spending it sitting on the floor with young Thorin and baby Tauriel, Rose’s children, and little Beren, the child belonging to Challis. She wasn’t very good with children in general because she just didn’t have the patience or the interest but she loved being with Thorin and Tauriel because they reminded her so much of her parents. And Beren was a sweet child too and was welcome to a share of her affections. Rose had given birth to Thorin just over three years ago and had come to live in her father’s old forge along with Aunt Dis. Telbarad visited as often as he could and so it wasn’t surprising when she gave birth to Tauriel a couple of years later, at practically the same time that Challis and Lithin had Beren.

Poppy was delighted to have her beloved sister and her niece and nephew living so close by and they often visited each other. The children adored their beautiful aunt and always showered hugs and kisses upon her when they met and, since there had not been many people in Poppy’s life who had loved her so unconditionally, this was a new and welcome experience, fully returned in kind. Beren was lucky to be the recipient of any overflow.

She had invited them all to share the day with her in her lovely manor house and her housekeeper, Agatha, had cooked some delightful food of the kind that especially appealed to children – elf cakes, orc fingers and mashed po-tay-toes - and they were now all replete. The children played happily with some of Poppy’s old toys which she had dug out for them from the chest where she kept such items ready for the time when she had her own, and the women chatted quietly amongst themselves.

“So, how’s it been going this past year with Beren?” Rose asked Challis.

“It gets better all the time,” answered the pretty elf. “He’s been sleeping through the night for some months now and he is such a good-natured child during the day.”

Poppy smiled and lifted Beren onto her lap, dangling a toy tantalisingly just above the little boy’s head. He chuckled at the game and reached for it. Now, if only she could be certain that she would produce a baby as well-behaved as Beren, then she would be prepared to have one next week. And she and Lostwithiel had definitely been thinking about it just lately.

“No change of heart, then?” grinned Rose. “No wishing you had never had him in the first place?” They all knew that children were hard work, even Poppy, who had watched her sister sometimes struggle to get through the day because she was so exhausted.

Challis laughed. “It’s all been worth it,” she said. “Definitely. Things change radically after you have a baby. The relationship with your husband can never be the same. But…..you win some, you lose some.”

“So, what do you think you’ve lost?” asked Poppy idly as she swung Beren over her head.

“Well, there’s the physical side to our relationship. As expected, we just don’t do it any more,” said Challis calmly.

“WHAT!” exclaimed Poppy, nearly dropping Beren. “Say that again! ‘As expected…..?’ What does that mean, for goodness’ sake?”

Challis blinked. “We don’t make love any more,” she repeated. “Elves don’t, you know, after they have a child.” Then seeing the confusion in Poppy’s eyes, she added. “It’s what happens. Hasn’t Lostwithiel told you about this?”

Poppy shoved the startled Beren into his mother’s arms and, leaping to her feet, began an agitated walk around the room.

“Why on earth does this happen, Challis?” she almost shouted.

“Well, I’m not quite sure,” said the elf, looking upset and concerned over how angry Poppy appeared to be. “It’s just the way we’re made, I suppose. Something switches off once a child is born.”

Poppy stopped pacing for a moment and flung her hands wide. “But don’t you CARE?”

Challis wrinkled her brow and thought about it: “No, I don’t think either of us do. We knew it would happen and, somehow, all our energy is channelled into looking after Beren.”

Poppy stood with her mouth open for a moment, staring at Challis in disbelief. Then she turned on Rose.

“Did YOU know about this?” she asked.

“Sort of,” responded her sister. 

“So why didn’t you warn me before I married Lostwithiel?” Poppy snapped.

“Because it’s not something that affects my own life and it was a piece of knowledge that was tucked away in the back of my mind. Didn’t mother discuss it with you?”

“No,” said Poppy, “and it’s too late to ask her why not.”

“Well, perhaps she didn’t think about it either, not with our father being a dwarf. I don’t believe she was affected by this.” In fact, no-one who had ever seen Thorin and Tauriel together could possibly imagine that the physical side of their marriage had fizzled out after they had produced children.

Poppy was feeling very let down, by her family in general, but by her husband in particular. She had entered her marriage in total ignorance of a very important fact and no-one had thought to tell her about it. Rose got up and put her arms around her. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure everything will be alright. Just talk to ‘Thiel about it.”

Too right she was going to talk to ‘Thiel about it, she thought. And she was in a very bad mood for the rest of the day.

.o00o.

Pt II

Rose and Challis left later that afternoon and Lostwithiel came home early that evening. He chatted about his day and Poppy listened politely. Then they ate the meal which Agatha had prepared for them. But, when the housekeeper had tidied up the kitchen and had disappeared off to her own quarters, Lostwithiel leaned across the table and, seizing Poppy by the hand, said huskily: “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Let’s have an early night.”

Perfect, thought Poppy. And she looked at him through golden lashes and led him up to their bedroom. 

Lostwithiel picked her up and tossed her on the bed, laughing. Poppy lifted her arms to him and he began to tug at her clothes. She helped him with the buttons and he flung off his own clothes as well.

“Oh, Poppy,” he gasped, taking her in his arms, “I’ve wanted to do this for hours. I don’t know how I concentrated at work or got through that meal. I thought Agatha would never leave.” And he buried his face in her neck.

Poppy ran a hand down his back. “So, you really, really want me?” she asked.

“Yes, I really, really do,” he murmured hotly in her ear. And he got himself into a more convenient position.

Suddenly, Poppy pushed him off and said in a bored voice, “Sorry, not tonight, ‘Thiel.”

“What!” he exclaimed in a confused voice. But, after a moment, he just rolled back on top of her and grinned. “Stop teasing me, Poppy. I shall burst if I wait much longer.”

“Well,” she said coolly, pushing him off again, “you’ll just have to burst, won’t you, because I’m not interested.” And she climbed under the sheet and pulled it up to her chin.

“I don’t understand,” he said and a totally bemused look spread across his handsome face.

“Well, if you don’t understand,” she said, clutching the sheet to herself grimly, “then how do you expect me to understand when you do the same thing to me?”

“When…what…I’ve never…” and he stuttered to a halt in total incomprehension.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Thiel?” she shouted over the edge of the sheet. “How could you marry me and not tell me?” And the tears of anger and frustration began to roll down her cheek.

Lostwithiel, suffering from a totally different form of frustration and not having the slightest idea what his wife was talking about, hastened to wipe the tears away with his thumb, kissing her gently on her lips as he did so.

“I think you need a cuddle,” he whispered, and he pulled up his side of the bedclothes and scrambled in beside her. He groaned quietly as he felt her body pressing against his own but he put his arms about her and patiently asked: “What is it, dearest? Tell me what this is all about and I’ll make it better.”

Poppy elbowed him away. “Well, from what I heard this afternoon,” she snapped, “you’ll have a hard time making this better.”

Lostwithiel began to feel anxious, but asked quietly: “And what DID you hear this afternoon?”

His wife took a deep breath. It was such a shocking thing that she found it very difficult to put it into words: “Challis said…. Challis told me….. and then Rose said…..and you never explained……..and neither did my mother…..” And she burst into racking sobs.

Lostwithiel tentatively took her in his arms again. This time, she didn’t push him away but lay her head upon his chest and cried her eyes out. The elf lord stroked her hair and waited. When the tears finally stopped and she was just gulping and sniffing, he lifted her chin and said firmly, “Try again, my love.”

She looked into his concerned eyes and, touching his face, she said steadily: “Challis told me that, once elves have had a child, they don’t make love any more. And I can’t bear it – I just can’t bear it.”

Lostwithiel looked steadily back at her. “I thought you knew,” he said quietly. “Surely your mother told you? I knew from an early age – it was all part of our upbringing. It somehow seems quite natural.”

“Well, I’m not an elf – not a proper one, anyway,” she snapped, “and it doesn’t seem natural to me. And I don’t know why my mother never spoke about it. She obviously never gave up the physical side of HER marriage. So, how do you explain that?”

Lostwithiel wrinkled his brow. “Umm, perhaps this off switch only happens when two elves marry. With your father being a dwarf – who knows what difference that made?”

Poppy brightened. “So, if I’m half dwarf, do you think that means it won’t happen to us either?”

“I don’t know,” Lostwithiel said. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

She became agitated again. “I don’t know how you can talk about this so calmly,” she muttered. “I don’t know how you can accept that we will never make love again once we have children. How can you possibly give up all this?” And she kissed and caressed him until he was groaning with passion.

“I don’t know,” he moaned inarticulately into her hair. “It seems unbelievable – I just know it happens.” He rolled on top of her again and, this time, she didn’t push him away. “Well,” he panted, “the switch is definitely in the on position at the moment. Don’t you think we ought to make the most of it?”

“Alright,” conceded Poppy rather grumpily. “But if you think I shall ever risk having children then you’ve got another think coming!”

But there was no use either of them thinking about it because Poppy was pregnant already. 

.o00o.

Pt III

The following day, Lostwithiel set off on a four-day patrol and Poppy decided to spend some time with Rose. It was a fine day and she ambled on her horse in the sunshine down to the forge, thinking about her former home.

Before she got married, she had thought of the forge as a bit of a prison: it was boring and far from her friends in the Grey Havens. She had wished every day that her parents would decide to move into the town and felt low-spirited and grumpy when they never did. She had moaned a lot but Thorin had calmly ignored her saying that he knew what was best for his family.

Now that she lived in her beautiful house at the outpost, she had begun to see the forge in a more positive light. It was quiet and in a very pretty position by the river which had provided a measure of entertainment in the way of fishing and swimming and was also an idyllic setting for picnics. It was spacious and attractive and was large enough to put up friends and relatives if they wanted to stay the night. It was cosy and comforting, cool in summer and warm in winter, and enough people passed by at the crossroads to amuse them if they were bored. And she remembered standing on the gate as a child with Rose, watching rich merchants and beautiful, haughty elves ride by on their way to the Grey Havens whilst her sister sang a little song about fine ladies riding on white horses with rings on their fingers and bells on their toes. 

She looked forward now to returning to the place that she still thought of as home. But it was a bitter-sweet experience. Sometimes she would be sitting on the floor of the main room, playing with the children and she would catch a glimpse of dress material flashing past the open door of the kitchen and she would think it was her mother when it was only Dis. At other times she would be day-dreaming and she would hear the tinking of a hammer on metal in the forge and it would take her a few moments to realise that it was Rose and not her father. And then a feeling of sadness and loss would nearly overwhelm her.

But she received a warm welcome with lots of hugs and kisses as Rose and the children came to the door. Dis was busy making the evening meal and they embraced each other with more genuine fondness than when Poppy had lived there.

They spent a happy evening together; Rose put the children to bed and Poppy unpacked in her old room, the little bedroom that had been created out of the old playroom after she had been born. It was small but it had been all hers and she stroked the embroidered pillow and coverlet with an affectionate hand.

She felt very tired that evening for some reason and, after a desultory conversation with the other two women, she took herself off for an early night. She slept very heavily, with her back to the door, and she was roused the next morning by the mattress dipping as someone sat on her bed. She smiled sleepily to herself and turned over, expecting to look into her father’s blue eyes and to hear his deep, rumbling voice say: “Come on, slug-a-bed! Time to get up!”

But, instead, it was Dis, of course, sitting there with a steaming mug of tea. Poppy took one, confused look at her and burst into tears. Dis hastily put down the mug and clasped her niece in her arms. “There, there, chicken,” she said, and she rocked her on her breast. She needed no explanation. Her own home was still haunted by the ghosts of her husband and her two sons and she knew the sudden grief that such moments caused when she grasped at, but lost, their shadows.

After a short time, Poppy’s crying ceased and she lay there quietly with her arms around her aunt for a while. But, suddenly, she jerked away and clutched a hand to her mouth. Dis recognised the movement and seized a china bowl which was decorating the top of the old toy chest and held it under Poppy’s chin. Rose had come quietly to the door when she had heard the crying. Now she dashed forward and held back Poppy’s long hair. The spasm lasted only a brief time and then Poppy lay back on her pillow, grey and sweating. The two women fussed around her and, after a few minutes, the colour returned to her cheeks. She drank a little tea, ate a slice of toast and soon claimed that she was perfectly fine.

But, the same happened the following morning and Dis and Rose looked wisely at each other over the heaving shoulders.

When the vomiting stopped, Rose sat on the bed and helped her sister to a sip of tea. “Do you think you might be pregnant?” she asked.

Poppy looked horrified: “Of course I’m not. We take precautions. And, anyway, after what Challis told me the other day, I don’t want children.”

But, then she remembered how much more careless she and ‘Thiel had been in recent weeks because they had vaguely thought that it would be nice to be parents – before she found out that horrible piece of information from her elven friend.

“Shall we examine you?” Dis asked gently, because both women possessed some skills in midwifery. And Poppy reluctantly lay back on the bed.

And, yes, she was pregnant, they pronounced. They tried to be thrilled and excited for her but they knew she was devastated by the news.

Poppy set off for the outpost the following day, insisting that she was fine on her own because she needed a private, little “chat” with her husband. And so, they let her go. When she got to the manor house, Lostwithiel was already there and hastened to greet her at the door when he heard her horse. But she swept coldly past him without a word and went upstairs to remove her cloak and change.

Lostwithiel hurried anxiously after her, trying to guess what had happened at the forge to put her in such a bad mood. He gave a tired sigh. There always seemed to be a crisis as far as Poppy was concerned and he wondered if their entire life together would be spent lurching from problem to problem: problems that he usually – and mysteriously – got blamed for. 

She had flung her cloak upon the bed and was sitting in front of a mirror angrily brushing out her hair. He stood behind her and gently removed the brush from her hand and then he began to slowly run it through her curls himself.

“What happened at the forge, Poppy?” he asked. 

She closed her eyes and let the brushing soothe some of her anger away. Finally, she took a deep breath and said quietly: “I’m pregnant, ‘Thiel.” 

She felt the brush stop. Then the elf put it down very, very carefully. Then he knelt next to her and, taking her hands in his, said, “That’s wonderful.” And his eyes were full of joy.

“But it’s not,” whispered Poppy, “because it could mean the end of our relationship. You might be ready for it, but I’m not.”

He kissed her on the lips very gently. “Let’s just think about the baby,” he said, “and forget about what might or might not happen. It’s a very wonderful thing that you are bearing my child and I can hardly speak for happiness.”

And she held his face between her hands and looked into his eyes. She could see the ecstasy there and suddenly felt mean and selfish. Typical, she thought about herself, only concerned with her own wants and desires. She sighed and returned his kiss. “It’s happened now – there’s no changing things. Help me cope, ‘Thiel,” she said. 

.o00o.

Pt IV

Lostwithiel’s way of helping Poppy cope – or at least it was the noble excuse he made to himself – was to make love to her as much as possible so that she could see that his passion was unflagging and that it was unlikely to change. In fact, he didn’t need to try too hard because the more her pregnancy advanced, the stronger his physical attraction to his wife became. And it did help Poppy because, if he were still attracted to her while she was overweight and ungainly, how much more attractive would he find her once she was her normal, slim and beautiful self again.

And so the months passed and Poppy tried hard not to think too much about the future.

In fact, she began to enjoy her pregnancy. She felt full of energy and still went up to the outpost to help out most days. Not that she was allowed to do much. The elves made a tremendous fuss of her, sitting her down a lot and bringing her cups of tea and telling her how beautiful she looked and what a wonderful mother she was going to make. Poppy decided that she could cope with the state of pregnancy forever, if necessary.

And, although Poppy thought she looked ugly, to her husband and others around her, she seemed to grow more beautiful by the day. Her hair became wonderfully luxuriant, her skin looked very fine and felt extremely soft and smooth to the touch (Lostwithiel could vouch for this), there was a lovely rosy glow about her and she smiled and laughed in a way she had never done before. The happy aura that hung about her made people want to be with her and Poppy had never felt so wanted for herself and not just for her looks in her life. And, as for the increasing expansion of her body, it seemed to suit her. She wore it lightly and the elves just wanted to cuddle and protect her. 

Lostwithiel wanted to do more than just cuddle her. He found her increased plumpness and the smoothness of her skin very sensuous and, as he snuggled into her at night, Poppy wasn’t the only one who didn’t want the pregnancy to come to an end.

Apart from the fact that she was enjoying it, Poppy knew very little about pregnancy or childbirth. And, somehow, it became a tacit agreement between her husband, her sister and her aunt that she should be kept in ignorance because they had decided amongst themselves that the less she knew, the more she would be able to cope when it actually happened. She never asked and they never offered information. And so Poppy drifted around in a romantic, golden glow of her own imaginings about what it was like to give birth and no-one told her any better. When the time came, thought Lostwithiel, they would all be there to help her through it. No point in frightening the life out of her in advance for no reason.

The problem was, since she was half-elven, no-one even knew how long her pregnancy would last. An elven pregnancy went on for a year and a dwarven one for 9 months. The physician guessed that Poppy’s pregnancy would be about 10 months or so and everyone was happy to go along with that. It seemed likely. Why not?

And so, as she drew near to the end of her ninth month, Poppy decided to go with Rose into town whilst Dis looked after little Thorin and Tauriel. She thought it was about time she stocked up on baby clothes and other necessities and Rose knew all the best places where such items could be found. They planned to stay overnight with Barnaby Waller so that they could see how the lovely Cat was getting along. She was nine now and such a bonny child, a joy to everyone who came into contact with her and the light of her adoptive father’s life.

Poppy was still feeling very fit but Rose insisted that they take her mother’s old trap. “Especially as you’ll doubtless buy up half the town,” she laughed. They chatted with the close intimacy of loving sisters as they trundled along. 

“So, how’s your love life?” asked Rose, half in fun and half in concern.

“Almost too much for me to handle,” grinned Poppy. “’Thiel assures me that nothing will change after the baby’s born.” Then a shadow passed over her face. “But what does he know?” she sighed.

Rose took a hand from the reins and placed it gently on her sister’s arm. “And what do you know? Or anyone? What we do know is that our parents were very happy together. So take that as a good sign.” Poppy nodded and they changed the subject.

They spent an enjoyable afternoon in the Grey Havens choosing baby supplies and the imminence of the birth suddenly became very real to Poppy almost for the first time. Tired but happy, they both made their way to Barnaby’s mansion and Cat came rushing out to meet them, followed by her father. She was such a pretty, happy little thing and she flung her arms about Poppy and lay her head upon her swollen belly. “Are you ready to come out yet?” she asked softly. And Poppy laughed and said, “Not quite yet.”

“I shall sing to him this evening,” Cat said, “and tell him how we can’t wait to see him.”

“So, it’s a boy?” laughed Rose. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little girl to play with?”

Cat considered this carefully. “Well,” she said at last, “I prefer boys, but I suppose I don’t mind either.” And that evening, as she had promised, she tried to sing the baby into the world.

They all applauded when she had finished her little song and the baby kicked in appreciation. “Look,” said the little girl gleefully, “he really liked it.”

“And what a beautiful mother he will find waiting for him when he does come into the world,” smiled Barnaby. “You look wonderful, my dear. And to think this could have been my grandchild about to be born.” And he patted her arm a little sadly.

Rose studied Poppy’s face for a moment and noticed that she had quite a high colour. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked.

Poppy suddenly felt exhausted and said, “I’m rather tired, I suppose, so I think I’ll have an early night.” And Rose, a little concerned, helped her upstairs to her room. But, at the bedroom door, Poppy suddenly paused and held her stomach. Rose looked at her and said as calmly as possible: “Is that a contraction you’re having?”

Her sister furrowed her brow. “It could be – I don’t know. Something tightened and it hurt a bit.” And she turned to Rose with a frightened look upon her face.

Rose led her into the room. Get ready for bed, Poppy,” she said quietly. “I’ll go and get things organised – just in case.” She stroked her hair and smiled. “I think that Cat’s little song may have been a bit too effective.” And she hurried out of the room.

Poppy, feeling flushed with both excitement and fear, unpacked her beautiful nightgown. It was pretty and delicate and smothered in white lace. Then she brushed out her hair. It was at this point that she felt another painful tightening, a bit worse this time. But it wasn’t too bad, she thought. I can cope with that. Then she climbed into the lovely bed and arranged herself elegantly upon a pile of pillows, her hair spread out gorgeously about her. She imagined herself lying with a pretty baby in her arms whilst visitors came and wondered at the beautiful picture of motherhood she presented to the world. And she smiled confidently to herself.

Then Rose came back into the room, with a great pile of towels in her arms. She stared at Poppy for a moment, said, “Oh dear, that will never do,” and rushed from the room again. She came back with Barnaby who was carrying an assortment of clothing. He spread the items out on the bed.

“These belonged to my wife,” he said, “and Rose thinks they might be more suitable.” And he held up a thick linen shift. “We don’t want to spoil that pretty thing you’re wearing at the moment, do we?” And he tried to smile jovially.

Spoil? In what way, spoil? Poppy didn’t understand nor did she want to think about things too hard. And she definitely didn’t want to wear that ugly nightgown. The baby got born; she held it as it slept in her arms; people visited and said how beautiful she looked. That was it, wasn’t it? And then she experienced another contraction that was so sharp she gasped and bent over.

Rose came swiftly to her side and Poppy grasped her hand tightly. “It hurts, Rose,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “How long will this take?”

“It could take hours,” her sister replied, “and it could be – uncomfortable. But I’ll make up some potions for you that will help.”

“Hours?” said Poppy bleakly.

Rose gave her a hug. “Yes, and that’s why it’s best to change into these old things. There’s a bit of a mess, you know.”

“Mess?” Poppy repeated. And Rose had to smile inwardly as she remembered Lostwithiel’s shocked reactions when her sister had been born.

“Come on,” she said firmly and she helped Poppy from the bed, stripped it, covered the mattress with old sheets and then helped her change into the linen shift.

“Don’t let Lostwithiel see me like this,” she wailed. “No wonder elves go off things if they see their wives looking like a frump.”

“You look lovely, Poppy,” whispered Rose and she kissed her on the cheek, nestled her on a pile of pillows and went off to make a pain-controlling draught.

But, by the time that Lostwithiel fell over the threshold in a panic some hours later, his wife was certainly not looking very lovely at all. And, what is more, she absolutely didn’t care. He found her standing by the side of the bed, moaning and bent over in pain, her shift stained and her hair stuck to her sweaty face. 

“Come and help her, ‘Thiel,” said Rose. “Support her and rub her back.” The elf dashed forward, horrified, experiencing unpleasant flashbacks to the time when Tauriel had given birth. But as soon as he reached her side, she snarled: “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again! This is all your fault.” And she clutched the bedclothes as another spasm ran through her.

Lostwithiel sent a pleading and fraught look across to Rose and Rose said in a firm voice: “Now stop being silly, Poppy. You’ll feel better if he massages your back.” And a scowling Poppy reluctantly let her husband come to her aid.

The physician had visited but thought there was still some time before the baby’s birth and so had left the expectant mother in the capable hands of her sister. But, over the next hour after Lostwithiel’s arrival, things began to come to a head and the pain increased.

Poppy was really angry. She didn’t weep but shouted and yelled and swore at the elf lord, blaming him for everything. He was upset, of course. “Don’t worry,” whispered Rose. “Some women behave like this. She doesn’t mean it. The anger is helping her through the pain.”

Well, she certainly sounded as if she meant it, thought the distressed elf lord. And he promised himself that he would never put his beloved through anything like this again. And he understood the reason why elves only produced one child. 

The physician returned at just the right moment, expressed pleasure at Poppy’s progress and, only a short time later, as Poppy screeched at the top of her lungs, smoothly delivered a beautiful baby girl. Poppy fell back on her pillows, suddenly quiet and clutching the baby to her bosom in exhausted wonder. Lostwithiel collapsed into a chair and sobbed in relief. Rose moved around efficiently, helping the doctor to tidy up, pulling the covers neatly across the bed and brushing Poppy’s hair. And then the parents were left on their own so that they could get to know their new child.

Lostwithiel approached the bed apprehensively and hovered over the two of them. “I’m sorry, Poppy,” he said. “I promise I’ll never touch you again.” And he wiped away a tear from his eye.

Poppy glared at him. “Don’t you dare – don’t you dare say that! That’s the last thing I want you to say!”

The elf looked startled. “But that’s what you’ve been yelling at me for the last hour or so.”

“Oh, stop being silly, ‘Thiel,” she snapped. “Of course I want you to touch me. I want you to tell me how beautiful and wonderful I am and how you just can’t wait to get me into bed again. Hasn’t this whole pregnancy been about that?”

Lostwithiel gulped and took her by the hand. He looked at his lovely daughter and he looked at her beautiful mother and a huge wave of love just washed through him. And, to his heartfelt relief, he realised his love for Poppy was still tinged with desire.

“I think I shall always love and want you, Poppy,” he said and he kissed her gently on her white throat and then passionately on her lips. After that blissful moment, he took the golden-haired baby in his arms. “Thank you for giving me a daughter,” he said, “and I wish your parents could be here to see how beautiful their grandchild is.” And Poppy wept a little when she thought of her mother and father who were going to miss so much.

“What shall we call her?” he asked.

“Rosie, of course,” she answered, as if this were the most obvious name in the world.

And Thorin’s daughter and the elf lord and the baby sat entwined on the bed in each other’s arms. And their life changed dramatically from that moment onward – and it changed for the better. 

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I expect that this story could do with a footnote to explain where I got my ideas about the sex life of elves from. So, here it is:
> 
> About six months ago, I came across a letter from Tolkien to a fan in which he said that elves lost interest in sex once they had a child. I tucked this away in the back of my mind because I thought it would provide an interesting scenario for Poppy. You could say that Tolkien's remark reflected abstemious attitudes in Catholicism but he himself had four children and, IMO, had a passionate relationship with his wife.
> 
> HOWEVER, I did have the feeling that, if I explored the Silmarillion, this idea about one child and then no sex wouldn't hold water, but for the sake of my story, I decided to run with it. And it IS quite amusing, isn't it, in this story?
> 
> I shall try to track down his letter, but, in the meantime, I would ask you to consider various things, such as the fact that Middle-earth doesn't seem to teem with elven children, that there seems to be a brother and sister relationship between Galadriel and Celeborn and that elves don't have a birthday but a "begetting day" which implies that elves have sex so infrequently that they can remember when it all happened, LOL!
> 
> Here is a comment in tolkiengateway: "Elves have few children, as a rule; (Fëanor and Nerdanel were an exception, since they had seven sons), and there are relatively sizable intervals between each child. They are soon preoccupied with other pleasures; their libido wanes and they focus their interests elsewhere, such as the arts. Nonetheless, they take great delight in the union of love, and they cherish the days of bearing and raising children as the happiest times of their lives."
> 
> And here is a comment from a discussion on Planet Tolkien: "Elves, it says, tend to bear children shortly after they marry. It is said in general they have few children, and although four was frequent in the early days, with the passing of ages, this number fell. Feanor, with seven sons, is the highest on record. The reason for this, apparently, is that Elves pass to their children "a greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body" than Mortals. Having children, therefore, drains them to a greater extent than is seen in Men (Look at Miriel, for example, who was almost consumed having passed so much of her spirit into Feanor)."
> 
> Well, I tweaked these ideas and I hope you enjoyed the outcome. What do you think? A tweak too far?
> 
> Poppy and Lostwithiel only had the one child but I don't want anyone to think it was because they lost interest in sex; rather, I think that one child fits in more with Poppy's personality: she is selfish (and nothing will ever change that completely) and would also, I think, want to put all the love that she has got to spare into one child and not spread it too thinly. Perhaps it's also painful for her to think how much her parents are missing as the baby grows. Who knows? Perhaps she will have another once they reach the Undying Lands?
> 
> Next and LAST chapter before the whole story continues as something entirely different: Postscript for an Elf Lord, in which we find out more about Lostwithiel's life as they all travel on the last ship to Valinor.


	31. Postscript for an Elf Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE VERY LAST STORY! (But only sort of, LOL. See End Note.) After all these months of story-telling, I would really like to hear from you, especially from those who have stuck with and enjoyed these stories from the very beginning. I’ve loved writing them for you.
> 
> As Thorin's family finally travel to a reunion on the last ship to Valinor, Lostwithiel, our favourite elf, muses on his life. Some of it will be new to you but some will be bits you already know from the other stories in All About Thorin, except that, this time, it’s told from Lostwithiel’s POV.

Postscript for an Elf Lord

Pt I

Lostwithiel, the elf lord, leaned on the railing of the ship and gazed into the dense sea fret. He could see nothing, but the ship sailed serenely and confidently onwards. It was as if he looked upon a grey, misty page where all his life on Middle-earth was written and he could read the endless chapters of his long past.

Whenever he thought about his life, he always envisaged it as being BT (Before Thorin) and AT (After Thorin). It was a story of two halves and neither part of him recognised the other. It was as if he were two totally different people.

The BT period had lasted a long, long time – hundreds of years, in fact. He was an immortal elf and he still had a long way to go. A long way to go until what? He didn’t know but, certainly, the AT bit had been a lot more satisfying even though, so far, it was a lot shorter.

He had been born in Mirkwood. His parents had been warriors, both at the court of Oropher, the elven king of that place and, later, of Thranduil, Oropher’s son, who ruled after him. They had been old enough to fight in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and had been witness to the near destruction of the elves of Middle-earth who, after the first overthrow of Sauron, were become a much reduced people with many leaving Middle-earth completely after seeking the Grey Havens.

Lostwithiel grinned wryly to himself. Now, that great union of forces should have been called the Last Alliance of Dwarves, Elves and Men but the elves usually omitted the dwarves because of the dislike and distrust – even hatred - that existed between the races.

After his father had been killed by a band of orcs in Mirkwood when he was a child, his mother had sat him down and pleaded with him not to become a warrior too but to take an interest in the beautiful things of life: poetry, music, singing, dancing and witty conversation that would please and amuse those around him. Lostwithiel had been reluctant at first and had continued with his sword and archery training behind his mother’s back. He didn’t want to hurt her and he really did want to obey her wishes, but the path of the soldier was still the one that appealed to him most.

But then, one day, while on patrol in the forest, she had been bitten and poisoned by one of the giant spiders. She was brought home, dying, on a litter. She had held his hand and whispered: “I know what you have been doing, ‘Thiel, but, I beg you to consider being a courtier and not one of Thranduil’s guards.” After that, he had felt obliged to follow her wishes.

And so, for hundreds of years, he had been one of Thranduil’s most popular courtiers. He had promised his mother that this was what he would do and he was determined to do it well. He was close to Thranduil who was almost as a father to him after the death of his parents and he also got on well with Thranduil’s son, Legolas, although he always felt pangs of envy whenever he saw the young warrior go out on patrol. But the people at court enjoyed his singing and his poetry and laughed at his witty tongue and he had to be content with the thought that, in elven culture, such skills were just as much valued as an ability with sword and bow.

But, he thought, you can’t carry on for hundreds of years doing something you don’t want to do without a part of your nature going awry. His poetry became less lyrical, his singing harsher and his tongue more malicious. But those around him were still much amused and so he made no effort to change things.

His mother had hoped that he would eventually find the love of a good elven woman, a love that would offer him support and be there for him when his parents no longer were. But the love of elves was a slow and late-growing thing and Lostwithiel had felt no strong emotion for any other elf down the long years.

Once, when a friend had finally become betrothed after two thousand years, Lostwithiel had asked him out of curiosity to explain what he meant when he talked about “love”. The friend had to agree that it had been a very strange experience. “I have never felt this kind of love or physical attraction before,” he mused, “but, when I met Selbereth, it was as though I had walked into a room and someone had lit a bright lamp. My life feels bathed in light and I have no desire to return to the dark. I am drawn to her brilliant flame. I cannot back away from her, nor do I want to. That’s the only way I can describe the desire I feel for her.”

Lostwithiel had not really understood. “You’ve got to experience it,” his friend had said. “It’s a good feeling, but it also teeters on the edge of pain because every part of my body yearns for her.”

Well, the elf lord wasn’t so sure he wanted that and so was quite happy to continue on his way without it. He did, however, for some time look around himself to see if any of the elven women lit the light for him but none of them had that effect. 

He delighted in beauty and so began to sort the ladies that he met at court into boxes, labelling them QB (Quite Beautiful), VB (Very Beautiful) and EB (Extremely Beautiful). Then he concentrated on those that he had labelled EB. He danced with them, he chatted with them in quiet corners, he wrote them poetry and sang them songs – and then he stood back and carefully waited for the special light. But it never happened.

However, perhaps this was because the light never came on for them either and it needed two to create this “love” thing. And so, he next tried honing his ability to seduce and allure. In this, he was more successful. A reasonable number of the ladies at the court found him charming and became flirtatious. But Lostwithiel felt nothing. Perhaps I have a stone for a heart, he thought, and he wondered if there had been some irreparable damage caused by the deaths of his parents at an early age. Perhaps he had learned that, if you loved something, it would be taken from you so it was best not to love in the first place.

One of the EB elves was Tauriel, a fine soldier who eventually became Thranduil’s captain of the guard. She was very popular and, it was said, even Thranduil had considered marrying her after his wife had died. His friend, Legolas, was a child at the time and was very disappointed when she hadn’t become his step-mother. But there had remained a strong bond between Tauriel, the king and his son. Well, Lostwithiel had thought, if she’s good enough for Thranduil, perhaps she’s good enough for me and he had danced and chatted with her a few times. But, no light came on as usual.

Lostwithiel had had one final, deliberate go at finding love. When a group of elves from Rivendell had visited Mirkwood, he was drawn to one called Lorrien. She was pretty and lively and kind and, when he found his interest piqued, he wondered if he could intensify the vague affection he had developed for her and change it into love. And so, he had pursued her. He sought her out at the evening feasts and sat next to her; he claimed nearly every dance; he followed her in the gardens and in the woods, reciting poetry and singing songs; he made her laugh.

Her friends giggled in groups around her, telling her that Lostwithiel must be in love with her and she blushed. She was very flattered and decided that she was in love with him too. And so, one night, when he took her for a moonlit walk under the trees, she had gone with him willingly and had eventually lifted her face for a kiss. 

Nothing, he felt nothing. 

He tried kissing her more deeply and ran his fingers through her silken hair and pressed his body hard against her. She responded with some passion but, instead of feeling any physical attraction, he felt vaguely repulsed by her searching tongue and her clinging hands. He couldn’t help himself. He pushed away from her and she saw the faint look of disgust turning down the corner of his mouth. She hesitated a moment and then ran away, crying. And that was the last occasion that Lostwithiel tried to find love for a long time.

.o00o.

Pt II

The elves had traded with the Men of Dale but had maintained a typically cold distance from the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. When Smaug had come and had driven the dwarves out of the area, the elves had offered no help, not even to the desperate refugees, and had even felt quite pleased that the dwarves were forced to go elsewhere. They had continued to trade with the Men once they had rebuilt their new home of Lake Town and had even helped them a little with its reconstruction. Then all had been quiet for some period of time.

The exiled dwarves were trouble-makers, of course, and had stirred up so much aggravation with the orcs and goblins that a ferocious war had finally broken out between them. In desperation, they had asked the elves for help again but, the attitude of Thranduil had been: they started it, so why should we go to their aid? The dwarves had finally won but at a terrible cost to themselves. The Mirkwood elves, however, had benefited because the orcs in their area had been almost utterly destroyed. Thranduil had just shrugged and felt no gratitude. Such advantages were just the spoils of war.

Then, one evening, there was a bit of excitement at the court. A party of dwarves had been captured trying to make their way through Mirkwood. Rumour had it that they had tried to attack the elves but had been knocked unconscious by the power of the magic circle with which they usually protected themselves.

Tauriel and her men had brought them in and now the main group was locked up in one dungeon whilst their leader was being kept separately on the floor below. Thranduil took Lostwithiel with him to inspect the leader who was chained up in the guard room, still unconscious.

The elf was more than a little curious because, although dwarves were often discussed, this was the first time he had seen one. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected but it wasn’t this. He supposed he had always imagined a dwarf to be a funny little fellow, very squat and with a long, white beard tucked into his belt. But this dwarf, lying sprawled on the floor, was about the same height as Tauriel, had a short, neatly trimmed beard, long, black hair, braided before the ears, and was very muscular and well-built. All that smithing, I suppose, he thought. But, the most surprising thing of all was that he was very good-looking with strong, well-defined features. Not good-looking in the way of elves who were willowy, beautiful creatures, but very masculine, like a handsome, striking Man. Yes, “masculine” would define him if he was being fair, thought Lostwithiel, but he was also revolted by this masculinity because it seemed brutal, raw, barbaric and at the opposite end of the spectrum to what elves were. And Lostwithiel gave a delicate shudder.

“I’ve removed his weapons and his mail,” said Tauriel.

“Good,” said Thranduil. “Now strip him of everything except his shirt and breeches. I want him feeling vulnerable. See what you can get out of him. I’ll interview him in an hour.”

As they ascended the stairs to the throne room, Lostwithiel asked Thranduil what he thought the dwarves were doing in Mirkwood.

“I have no idea,” said Thranduil, “but, I am more than certain that they are up to no good and I feel it’s important to get the truth out of them.”

An hour later, the dwarven leader was dragged into the hall with his hands bound ignominiously behind him. But, he held himself arrogantly, his vivid blue eyes flashing, and immediately demanded that Thranduil tell him of the whereabouts of his men. Thranduil’s eyes flashed too and, when he also set his head at an icy and arrogant tilt, Lostwithiel could see that they were about to get nowhere with their prisoner. When the dwarf compressed his lips and refused to say anything to explain their presence in Mirkwood, Thranduil lost his temper and he was taken away to think about things in a dungeon, “for a hundred years if necessary.”

Well, it hadn’t been quite a hundred years but only a few days and then the dwarves had escaped with Tauriel in hot pursuit. This was just about the most exciting thing that had happened in a long time, Lostwithiel had thought. And then she posted back the most startling news: their erstwhile prisoner had been Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, and he intended to defeat Smaug and claim the treasure as his own.

Thranduil had been furious! “Some of that treasure belongs to the elves,” he snarled. And he began to gather together an army. He wanted volunteers from amongst his courtiers as well as his regular troops and an intrigued Lostwithiel had finally broken his promise to his mother and had stepped up to the mark. He didn’t expect much fighting – not against 13 dwarves, anyway – and the elven force was obviously only intended to be used for its powers of intimidation.

There followed some of the worst moments of Lostwithiel’s already long life. When they got to the Long Lake, the good news had been that the dragon was dead; the bad news was that Lake Town was destroyed and the dwarves were holding out in their Mountain against all comers. Men, elves and dwarves were at each other’s throats and were preparing to do battle over the treasure when a massive army of goblins, orcs and wargs arrived and the true fight began.

Lostwithiel blinked back the tears and stared blindly into the sea fog as he remembered it. So many dead! They had been overwhelmed but, at the critical moment, he had heard a great shout, and Thorin Oakenshield and his men had come thundering out of the Mountain and, his heart lifting, Lostwithiel had joined the surge of elves and men who had rallied to his side. No time to think about whether he liked dwarves or not: there is one I could follow, he had thought, and follow him they all did.

That had not been the end of things, but, at last, the allies had won the day, although Thorin was carried wounded off the battlefield, with his nephews dead and he himself not expected to live. As the dwarf recovered, Dain of the Iron Hills dealt justly with Men and Elves and Thranduil went home well contented with his share of the treasure.

It was some months later that an odd incident had happened. Thorin suddenly arrived at the palace of Mirkwood, accompanied by Tauriel who had been left behind to help nurse him. The elves had politely applauded him, remembering his courage before the Gate. But then he had announced that Dain was now king and that he was returning to his forge in Ered Luin. Tauriel had had a few quiet words with Thranduil and then she had disappeared too. 

Thranduil had kept her shocking secret from most of his court, sharing it only with a trusted few, including Lostwithiel. The elf had been appalled! Tauriel was betrothed to the dwarf. His revulsion at the thought almost made him physically sick. He would lie in bed at night, thinking about it. How could she? Not only was she going to marry someone from a race that had long been regarded as Other, not even created by the Lord Iluvatar, but she professed to love him and when he thought of the physical contact that had probably already happened between them, he was repulsed.

As the days went past, the elf found himself thinking more, not less, about things and the image of Thorin and Tauriel being intimate together became more and more vivid in his mind’s eye. He wanted to blot it out but he couldn’t and the worst thing was, he was beginning to imagine himself in Thorin’s place. 

.o00o.

Pt III

Not too long after this, Thranduil was invited to the Grey Havens to discuss some trouble in the North. He took a good part of his court with him and Lostwithiel was pleased to be among them. He hadn’t visited the Grey Havens in a long time and, although it was a weary journey, he felt in need of distraction. But when they got there, he discovered that Thorin and Tauriel were visiting too. When Thranduil found out, he sent them an invitation to a great feast he was holding before they set out for Mirkwood again.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” asked Lostwithiel. “Now everyone will know of their betrothal.”

Thranduil sighed. “I think it may be for the best,” he said. “People will have to get used to it in the end and perhaps it’s sensible that they find out in my presence where I can protect her.” He pulled a face. “I reacted badly when she first told me, you know. I was so shocked, I was very cruel. I need to make it up to her if I can. And, Lostwithiel,” he added, “I want you to help me out by being nice to Thorin.”

Well, Lostwithiel knew that that would prove difficult, but he bowed his head in agreement and, when the couple turned up at Thranduil’s palace, he could see that they certainly needed help. Thorin was the only dwarf present and, as the elves registered what their relationship had become and saw the betrothal rings dangling at their necks, the atmosphere became icy. Thranduil sat Tauriel at his side and made it clear that she was still his favourite person. But Thorin was ignored and left in a dark corner with his cup of wine.

The group of elves that Lostwithiel was seated with expressed their disgust and wondered if there were any way to break up the relationship. Surely if the two knew how everyone felt, they would realise that they just couldn’t go through with the marriage? 

“Yes,” he said to his fellow courtiers, “I’ve known about this for some time. I felt it was vile when Thranduil first told me and I still think it’s vile months later. Perhaps we should let Tauriel know how we feel.” 

They had agreed to this and, when the feast moved away from the tables and they began to chat in small groups, three of the courtiers approached Tauriel and began to be provocative, leering and making suggestive remarks until Thranduil interrupted and came to her rescue. Lostwithiel had been watching Thorin, brooding in the corner, and he suddenly realised that the dwarf was jealous of Thranduil. He eased himself across the room and sat down next to him. The elf was charm itself and Thorin seemed relieved that there was at least one person in the room who was prepared to talk to him. But, in amongst the pleasantries, Lostwithiel dropped some seeds of doubt and managed to imply that Tauriel was in love with Thranduil. He laughed to himself as he saw his seemingly casual remarks take hold. And, when Thorin hustled his betrothed out the door, he grinned at his companions. “I think we’ve made progress,” he said.

And, on their way back to Mirkwood two days later, Tauriel had joined them as they passed the forge at the crossroads. She had left him! Or rather, as they discovered later, he had left her. And Lostwithiel felt triumphant.

He had kept away from Tauriel on the journey home, his triumph marred by a faint sense of guilt. They had rested for some time at Rivendell and, to his relief, she decided to stay on there. As they rode away, he had asked Thranduil why she had made this decision. “She’s pregnant,” the elven king had said shortly. “And I would prefer it if you kept that to yourself.”

The old sense of revulsion returned. The pregnancy confirmed her intimacy with the dwarf. All the time he had been able to think that perhaps they were keeping themselves chaste until their actual marriage, he had managed to hold the images at bay. But, now he knew the truth and again he lay awake at night trying not to think of the slender elf in the arms of the husky dwarf. His imagination ran riot even though he was chaste himself and knew very little of what might actually have happened between them. In fact, that made things worse because his ignorant imaginings were a hundred times more lurid as a result of it.

But, it was two more years before Thorin and Tauriel were brought to his attention again. Thranduil summoned him and lay a hand upon his shoulder. “I’m worried about you, Lostwithiel,” he said. The king had noticed that, since their return to Mirkwood, the elf’s clever, witty humour that had entertained so many had gradually taken an ever more malicious and bitter turn. His beautiful songs and finely-wrought poems had become satirical and seemed to concentrate on the short-comings, lusts and follies of dwarves. Many of the elves laughed heartily but others were concerned that, now that they interacted more with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, these rude verses would come to the ears of Dain and there would be trouble.

“I think,” said Thranduil, “that you must be feeling a bit bored.” And he suggested that Lostwithiel go to the Grey Havens as an envoy for him. “The orcs are beginning to mount raids in the area,” he said. “And I want you to stay there for as long as you are needed.”

Lostwithiel felt quite excited at the idea but, just as he left, the elven king gave him a bundle of letters and a mysterious package. “One of the letters is for Tauriel,” he explained, “and the package contains a number of toys for her son.”

The elf blinked – he had imagined that Tauriel was still at Rivendell. It was only then that Thranduil told him that Thorin had gone after the beautiful captain of the guard and that they were now married and living at the forge in Ered Luin. For a moment, Lostwithiel’s stomach lurched and he felt like refusing the task of envoy. But, he had swallowed hard and had taken the two bundles from Thranduil. The king looked him in the eyes as if he understood more than he was letting on. “Good man,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. And the elf lord had set out for the forge at the crossroads.

He finally arrived at Thorin’s Hall early one morning and knocked loudly on the door. After a few minutes, a dishevelled and glowering Thorin with his shirt and breeches hastily and untidily pulled on, answered the door. With an effort, Lostwithiel adopted a pleasant and jocular smile, announcing his errand, and the dwarf, somewhat reluctantly, let him in. And the moment he stepped over the threshold, he understood the dwarf’s reluctance as an equally dishevelled Tauriel stepped out of the bedroom, a silk robe cast casually around her slender form.

But, of course, they had been in bed together and he had obviously interrupted something. The old images came flashing back again but he covered up his discomfort with a charming smile. She looked pleased to see him, but Thorin grumpily ordered her back into the bedroom to get changed.

In many ways, he had spent a pleasant hour or so at the forge. Tauriel cooked breakfast and showed off her child, Arion, who was very beautiful. Well, what had he expected? A monster? Thorin proudly took him on a tour of his new hall which had many delightful elven features but the gorge rose in his throat again when he entered the bedroom to find the exquisitely carved bed still unmade. It was a reminder of what had so recently happened here and he turned away quickly. He needed to get out of the Hall and away from the dwarf. He could almost see what it was that had attracted Tauriel but it seemed abnormal and Thorin’s base, animal magnetism revolted him.

The following day, he attended a meeting with Gandalf and a number of other elf lords and, somehow, he found himself volunteering – even against his mother’s wishes - to be part of a small group who would man an outpost in the foothills of the Blue Mountains. Tauriel would do the initial training and be their captain and Gandalf chose him to be her second-in-command. He felt in his gut that he was heading for some kind of confrontation with her but, in a weird way, he welcomed it.

.o00o.

Pt IV

Those first two weeks up at the outpost had been two of the happiest of his life. He had felt like a lonely outsider ever since his parents’ death and finally he was becoming part of a community. For a few days, the new recruits had been rather sullen, annoyed at the way that Tauriel bossed them around. But then they began to enjoy each other’s company and also began to appreciate their captain’s methods. In fact, for the first time in their idle lives, they started to feel useful. And, at last, Lostwithiel was doing what he had always wanted to do. The troop found they had developed a huge admiration for Tauriel – and that included Lostwithiel. Without Thorin there to remind him of what she got up to in her spare time, he began to like her as a person and admire her as his commanding officer. In fact, a little light began to flutter on and off and that rather worried him. His feelings for her had begun to go down an unwelcome path.

Perhaps nothing would have come of things if Thorin had stayed away. But, after two weeks, he suddenly appeared carrying newly-forged swords and, for a few hours, became involved in their training. Lostwithiel had realised from their first day at the outpost that the others seemed totally unaware that their captain was married to a dwarf. He guarded her secret and wondered at what point he should reveal this fascinating fact and whether or not he could use it to his advantage. After two weeks, he was reluctant to damage her reputation and had decided that, if anyone told them, it would have to be Tauriel herself.

And then Thorin had turned up.

No-one had realised he was Tauriel’s husband and Lostwithiel still kept quiet as the dwarf became a surprising hit with the men.

But, after training, Thorin had disappeared off into Tauriel’s office with her and Lostwithiel began to feel differently. The fluttering light flashed on for one blinding moment and the elf experienced a burst of sexual jealousy for the first time in his life. In fact, he hardly recognised it for what it was. He could guess what the two of them were doing in her office/bedroom and he wanted to leap into the room and drag them apart. He thought about it and an erotic charge ran through him. And then he turned to the rest of the men and said: “Of course, you do know that’s our captain’s husband and you can guess what they’re probably up to in her bedroom?”

The disgust had been palpable and Lostwithiel experienced a momentary feeling of satisfaction. All the affection and good will for Tauriel evaporated in a split second and, that evening, long after Thorin had gone home with no more than a kiss, they all managed to make her life a misery. She had gone to bed early, looking sad and tired, whilst Lostwithiel and Borondin stood on guard duty in the trees just beyond the farmhouse. Plenty of time for him to think, of course.

And he really did think.

He conjured up a powerful image of a naked and beautiful Tauriel in bed with the strapping dwarf, both doing loathsome things together. He imagined her dark and secret desires and thought about his own. He wondered if she was the sort to be a willing partner of any man, dwarf or elf and decided that there was something corrupt about her. Then he quietly climbed through her open bedroom window, took off his clothes and got into bed with her.

She was deeply asleep and, as he wrapped her in his arms, she stirred and murmured Thorin’s name. He had kissed her then, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. And then he had had the urge to bite her and, of course, that’s when she had woken up. It had all ended badly with Tauriel punching him and breaking his beautiful nose and ordering him back out of the window and into the coming dawn. That was just the beginning, however, of a very, VERY bad day when they had both been captured by orcs. 

Thorin had come to the rescue, the three of them had put up a very good fight and Tauriel had forgiven him.

But the guilt had been a heavy burden and he had had an overwhelming urge to confess to the dwarf who, over a period of time, had gradually become his friend. He wasn’t quite sure how this had come about, but slowly and silently the dwarf had edged his way into his heart. In the end, one drunken night at the forge, he had told Thorin everything. What had he expected? That the dwarf would take him in a bear hug and say that everything was fine? Or did he expect the dwarf to beat him up? In fact, had he WANTED the dwarf to beat him up as a right and proper punishment? Well, the beating had been meted out and they had both moved on from there – sort of. The light always flickered when Tauriel came into the room. And then, years later, it had flickered briefly for Rose, her adopted daughter, and finally it had flared up for Poppy, her younger daughter, and, at last, he knew true love and true passion.

But, after that beating, there had still been a long and rocky road as he negotiated his relationship with Thorin. He had worked hard at it, even when Thorin teetered on the edge of rejecting him again and again. He had saved the dwarf’s life; he had sought out his company; he had openly shown his admiration for his skills; he had defended him from the sort of odium that he himself had displayed when first they met; he had expressed a desire to be part of his family; he had married his daughter, for goodness’ sake! And yet, still there was that distance between them as Thorin held him at arm’s length.

The years seemed long after the departure of Thorin and Tauriel to the Undying Lands. And the War of the Ring was a cruel and anxious time for all of them. Rose died in its wake and, when Telbarad moved to Gondor with his family, there no longer seemed a reason for them to stay in Middle-earth. Lostwithiel and Poppy stood on the balcony of their beautiful town house in the Grey Havens and listened to the cry of the gulls. “They’re calling us into the West,” he smiled. 

.o00o.

“Are we nearly there?” said a beautiful young woman who had come up on deck and who now slid her hand into the crook of his arm.

“Can’t see a thing, Rosie,” he replied, “but I suppose we must be.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed her pretty hair.

Then his wife, Poppy, and her brother, Arion, came up from their cabins and leaned on the railing with him, staring hard through the swirling fog; and he put his arm about Poppy’s waist and drew her possessively to him. She looked up and smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his smooth cheek.

“Look, father!” said Rosie and the sea mists were finally parted by a shaft of sunlight which pierced the gloom. And as the fog lifted to reveal a glorious blue morning, they could see the white sands of a beautiful beach and the stone walls of the harbour mouth and there were Thorin and Tauriel, waiting for them.

“They’re here, ‘Thiel,” cried Poppy, her eyes shining with joy. “We’ve come home.” And he hugged her and knew that what she said was true. Perhaps he no longer had such a long way to go in his long life after all. He had arrived in the Undying Lands at last and he had come home to Thorin and Tauriel along with Arion and Poppy and Rosie. The dwarf and the elf were waiting to embrace him and he knew their love at last. The harbour quay seemed bathed in sunlight and, hand in hand with his daughter, he walked joyfully down the gangplank to meet them.

.o00o.

Post-Postscript:

The last ship from the Grey Havens had docked, its passengers had disembarked and joy had overflowed for many that night.

“Promise me just one thing, Thorin,” said Tauriel, as he rested, breathing heavily above her, after a happy and enthusiastic bout of love-making.

“What’s that, my love?” he rumbled in his dark, rich voice. And his blue eyes gazed searingly at her from under black eyelashes as he carefully propped himself up on his arms and wriggled contentedly between the thighs of his beautiful wife. “You want me to be nice to Lostwithiel? Or perhaps you don’t want me to lose my temper with Poppy or spoil my new granddaughter, Rosie?”

She shook her head and giggled.

“Or I mustn’t spend too much time, then, discussing smithing techniques with Gimli? Or smoke too much pipe-weed with Bilbo? Or give Thranduil lectures on why it’s inappropriate to kiss my wife?”

Tauriel laughed and shook her head again. “You’d never win in a guessing game, would you?” she whispered and she brushed her lips across his broad chest.

“Tell me, then,” he said softly as he lowered his head and gently bit her ear.

“Promise me that you’ll never cut off these plaits,” she said and Thorin gave a snort of laughter. 

“Why is that?” he asked. And an innocent grin spread across his handsome face.

In answer, she wound the braids tightly about her fists and once more pulled her willing husband down upon her breast.

.o00o.

THE END!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the family pass on to the Undying Lands, it is time to finish this series and start a new one. Will Thorin and his family manage to establish themselves in Valinor ( a very boring place, BTW)? The trouble is, when they wake up the morning after their arrival, they discover that it's a wrap and that their author has stuck THE END at the bottom of the page. Has their life really come to an end or can they be the masters of their own fate by getting out the laptop and writing stories about themselves?
> 
> Thank you for reading All About Thorin; now come and join me on this new series entitled Thorin and the Laptop where the stories get funnier and the family become real movers and shakers in the Undying Land.


	32. What the.....?!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Tauriel and their family have all finished up in the Undying Lands…..and I don’t feel like writing about them any more. Valinor is such a BORING place! So, who will get their hands on the laptop and continue to write their story? Read on and find out.
> 
> EDIT: I tried to post this as a stand-alone, Thorin and the Laptop, but have decided that it is much better if I keep it within the same series of stories.

What the…….?!

Pt I 

The day after the last ship had arrived in the Undying Lands, the Oakenshields gathered together for breakfast. Poppy and Lostwithiel had slept in the guest bedroom, Arion had made up a comfortable bed for himself in the stable whilst Rosie had dragged a spare mattress, sheets and pillows to a cosy spot in front of the sitting-room fire. “Just like my Aunt Rose did when she first arrived at grandfather’s forge,” she said. “I’ve been told all the stories.”

That happy morning, Thorin and Lostwithiel were in the kitchen making breakfast so that the ladies had time for another extensive chat, whilst Arion got out his laptop to have a check on what was happening next.

“No! I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed in a shocked voice. Lostwithiel nearly dropped the plates he was carrying to the table, the women stopped talking and looked up with startled eyes and Thorin emerged from the kitchen, frowning and wiping his hands on a towel.

“What is it?” he rumbled in deep, concerned tones.

Arion looked up, his eyes wide. “She’s stopped writing about us…..The story’s finished.”

“No,” gasped Poppy. “I don’t believe it. Let me have a look!” And she tore the laptop from his grasp.

“It’s true!” she shrieked after a few tense moments.

“Wait! Don’t panic yet! Check out that other forum,” murmured Tauriel, trying to sound reassuring. Poppy tapped away but, in a very short time, she could only confirm their worst fears: their story had come to an end.

Arion picked up a mug and flung it in disgust across the room so that it shattered against the wall. No-one reprimanded him because they all felt like doing the same thing.

“So, what happens next?” asked Rosie, looking rather frightened.

“Nothing!” shouted Arion. “There is no next!”

Tauriel put an arm about her granddaughter and hoped that it felt comforting. But Rosie wailed and wrung her hands: “But I don’t understand. It’s not as if we’re dead or as if we’ve stopped.”

“No,” sighed her father, “but nothing will happen to us ever again. Go to the door.”

Rosie went to the front door and, opening it, stared for a moment. Then she turned back to her family. “But what am I supposed to be looking at? Nothing’s changed.”

“That’s just the point,” said Tauriel quietly. “The early morning sun will continue to shine. Night will never come. The harbour you can see in the distance will always look the same and the leaves will never change colour and fall from the trees.”

“Lucky it’s not raining,” snarled Arion, “or that we’re not up to our necks in snow.”

“Small mercies,” muttered ‘Thiel.

They all walked outside and Thorin gestured to Arion and Rosie: “Climb the hill behind the house and tell me what you see.” The others stood there dismally until the two came hurrying back down again looking confused and shocked.

“There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing,” said Arion.

“What do you mean by nothing?” put in Lostwithiel.

“Nothing. A void. A blackness. Everything just stops. Nothing exists over there.” Arion looked frustrated as he tried to explain and Rosie started to cry.

“I guessed as much,” sighed Thorin. “Whatever she didn’t mention or describe in one of her stories just doesn’t exist.”

“And what about all the friends we’ve made here in the past 40 years?” asked Tauriel suddenly.

“Only those who got a mention still exist; but those who didn’t, don’t….if you see what I mean. People like Thranduil, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Bilbo and Tauriel’s troop are all down there in the harbour, resting from their journey.” Then he nodded to the elven tree houses just below them. “And that lot got into one of the stories so they’ll still be there. But, otherwise……..” And he tailed off despondently.

“It could be worse,” said Poppy. “Thank goodness she set part of her saga here otherwise we might be completely alone in an island of nothingness.” And she shuddered.

Thorin sent Lostwithiel off to check out their friends who had stayed overnight in the harbour area after disembarking and Tauriel popped down the road to the elven settlement. They both came back with a similar story: their two sets of friends were sitting around feeling as stunned as they were, hoping for a bit of leadership. “I’m afraid they think that you should take control, Thorin,” said Tauriel. “After all, the story does centre on you.”

“That’s what the others say too,” added Lostwithiel. “The story’s All About Thorin and so they seem to think that you should come to the rescue.”

“Yes, father” said Arion indignantly. “It was always too much about you. One of the story’s followers said she wanted to hear more about me. She thinks I’m very attractive and a badass. But, I’m not even married yet and I know nothing about – umm – intimate relations. That’s really mean. How shall I find out about that now?” And he tossed his long, black locks back from his handsome face.

“Well,” grunted Lostwithiel, “that same follower didn’t like MY character. That’s because I was forced to do an unpleasant thing near the beginning of the story and some people never got over it.”

“I knew it!” said Poppy with a gleam in her eye. “I knew you were keeping something from me! ‘Fess up! I think we’d all like to know what this dreadful thing was.”

“Not now, dear,” said the elf, shuffling his feet and looking guilty, whilst Thorin threw him a grumpy stare and Tauriel looked anxious. 

Poppy’s eyes darted from one to the other, not missing a thing. “You were in love with my mother!” she crowed, giving him a hard dig in the ribs. “I’m sure it was something like that. Just look at my father’s face!”

“That’s disgusting!” gasped Arion, looking at them with his mouth open.

“More disgusting than you might imagine,” muttered Thorin under his breath.

“Now, just stop it! All of you!” snapped Tauriel. “These are private matters and no one else’s concern. We’ve got more important things to bother us at the moment.” And they all shut up and looked glum again.

Thorin came out of a reverie and suddenly said: “Right, I’ve got it!” and marched back into the house. The others followed him hopefully. They found him sitting up to the table with the laptop open in front of him. “Well,” he announced, “if SHE won’t continue with the story then I suppose we’ll have to write some more ourselves.” And he quickly googled the fanfic site.

First of all, they had to join the site. “What name shall we log on with?” the dwarf asked. This took at least half an hour as names were suggested and rejected. In the end, they decided on ThorinsCo since it included all of them. “And what shall we call our story?” asked Rosie who had been sitting quietly, listening politely to everyone else.

They decided that the name had to be similar to the original so that people would notice the connection and carry on with the new saga once they had finished the old one.

“How about: All About Thorin…and Everyone Else?” asked Thorin and, since he was in charge and they just wanted to get on with things, they all agreed.

“We can always come back and change it later,” whispered Arion to Rosie, “if we think it’s not catchy enough.” 

Thorin sat with his fingers poised above the keyboard. “Right,” he said, turning to Arion, “since you’re grumbling about not featuring enough in the stories, we’ll start off with one about you. You’ll meet someone absolutely fabulous and have lots of sex.”

“No-o-o-ooo!” wailed Arion.

“What’s wrong now?” asked Thorin, beginning to lose his patience. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” laughed Poppy. “But I don’t think he wants his father writing about his sex life.”

“Harrumph,” growled Thorin, clearing his throat. “I suppose he’s got a point. I wouldn’t want him to write about me and his mother either, come to think about it.”

“By Mahal, no!” exclaimed their son.

“No,” laughed Tauriel. “In a story written by Arion, we’d sleep in separate beds and never touch one another.”

“Too true,” Arion muttered. “I think you two appear to have had enough sex to last through a million stories.” His parents looked at each other grinning, and then leaned over to kiss each other.

“Don’t! Just don’t” winced Arion, putting a hand in front of his eyes.

“I think you’ve fathered a prude, Thorin,” laughed Tauriel, squeezing her husband’s hand. “He obviously doesn’t take after you.”

“Stop it!” roared Arion, his pointed ears turning pink.

Thorin finally stopped his teasing and said that a serious issue had been raised. “I suppose we ought to choose which of us should write about whom.”

“Well,” said Lostwithiel, “it would appear that a close familial tie puts the dead hand on things. But that only leaves me as a non-blood relative.”

“And I wouldn’t want you either,” growled Thorin. “Knowing you, I’d get some slash/elf-on- dwarf action. Who would you choose? Thranduil?”

“Oh, that’s an idea,” mused Lostwithiel. “Never thought of that. Were you in chains while you were in his dungeons? There’s an image to conjure with.”

“Stop it!” yelled Arion again. “This is a really inappropriate conversation. And,” he said, “turning towards the elf, “if that’s the sort of idea you’re likely to come up with, I don’t think I want you writing about me either.”

“So, who’s it to be?” sighed Thorin.

“I’ll do it, if you like,” said Rosie quietly.

“You!” said Arion. “What would a young girl like you know about love and sex?”

“More than you might think” she replied pertly. “You don’t grow up with a load of soldiers without picking up a few things, you know.”

“Goodness!” blinked Poppy. Then turning to her mother she snapped: “And when you see that troop of yours next, I hope you have a few words with them – corrupting a young girl!”

“I’m not so young,” sighed Rosie, “and they didn’t corrupt me. They just grew to be sort of – relaxed in their conversation when I was around. And,” she added, trying to change direction, “I’ve written a lot of stories in my spare time.”

“You have?” said Thorin, looking at her with interest. “There’s a clever girl! You’ll have to let me read them sometime.”

“No way,” laughed Rosie. “You might be shocked and look at me in a really different way if you did. And I’m glad you won’t find out what I’ve got planned for Uncle Arion either. At least he’s the only one who gets to know because he’ll be the one to experience it.”

Arion was standing there with a furrowed brow. “Don’t look so worried,” reassured Rosie. “It will be a lovely, romantic story involving a beautiful girl from another world and another time who has got a horrible stepfather and who has been badly bullied. But, after she is transported here, she finds happiness and love at last.”

“No-o-o-ooo!” they all yelled in unison. “Not a Mary Sue!”

“I don’t care what you call it,” Rosie said huffily. “It will be a really lovely story and I promise you that Arion will be happy with it.”

“Well,” grumbled Arion, “I suppose I’ll have to trust you. It’ll doubtless be better than anything the rest of them can come up with. But I think that you ought to write about the romance and then I’ll take over and write about the sex.”

“Excellent idea!” said Thorin. “Whenever a story about any of us begins to get a bit personal, that’s when we butt in and write a paragraph of our own.”

“What! Only a paragraph, Thorin?” grinned Lostwithiel.

“Well, perhaps a page or so, then,” grinned Thorin back. 

Arion cast his eyes up again.

“Good!” said Rosie, rolling up her sleeves. “Now, just pass me that laptop, grandfather! And all of you go back to bed. You’re about to wake up and set out on a story!”

.o00o.

Pt II

All About Thorin……and Everyone Else

Arion’s Story

It was a beautiful, sunny morning. Thorin was the first up and into the kitchen where he started to make breakfast for everyone…..

_(“Here, wait a minute,” said Thorin. “These stories usually start with me and Tauriel in bed together. Let me have the laptop.”_

_“Alright,” grumbled Rosie, “but make it a short one.”_

_Thorin thought for a moment, grinned and restarted the story….)_

It was a beautiful, sunny morning. Thorin and Tauriel opened their eyes to greet the first day of their new lives together with their family in the Undying Lands. Tauriel stirred sleepily and slid a hand over the muscular chest of her extraordinarily handsome and majestic husband. There was probably no-one half as attractive for miles around and Tauriel felt very lucky that she had nailed someone as gorgeous and as beautiful (in a masculine way, of course) as Thorin. Now that he was in the Undying Lands, his good looks had actually improved and his dark, luxuriant hair was even more glorious. The elves always stared enviously at him whenever he passed by.

“That was a wonderful night, Thorin,” she said. “I think you must be the best lover ever. Thank goodness I didn’t finish up marrying someone like Thranduil or Lostwithiel - I bet that neither of them has your stamina. You’re absolutely amazing. How many times did we do it last night?”

“I lost count,” said Thorin, kissing her gently. “But I think there may be time to slip in another before I get up to make breakfast.”

_(“What a load of rubbish!” exclaimed Lostwithiel, peering over his shoulder. “What an ego! And all these odious comparisons! You’re so full of yourself, Thorin, that you think you’re the only one who knows anything about love and sex. You’re making it up, aren’t you, all this nonsense about how many times, blah, blah, blah? But, let me tell you, from my own experience…..”_

_Thorin closed the laptop with a snap_.

_“No, thank you very much! I’d rather not hear anything about your experiences with my daughter. Now, just go away! This is about me and Tauriel and nothing to do with anyone else!”_

_Tauriel opened up the laptop and had a quick sneak peek._

_“It all sounds good to me, Thorin,” she said, giving his plait a tug. “Take no notice of him and carry on.”_

_His family were all hovering around the table, trying to look casual and uninterested, but he shooed them away with a flick of his hand and continued….)_

Half an hour later, Thorin got up to make breakfast and, soon, Lostwithiel joined him in the kitchen. The elf looked rested and ready to meet the day. Looks as though he slept soundly through the night, thought Thorin. No hanky panky THERE then. He doesn’t know what he’s missed. 

“Good night’s sleep?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” said Lostwithiel. “The bed was very comfortable. Slept like a log.”

Thought so, Thorin grinned smugly to himself and got out the frying pan.

“One egg or two?”

_(Rosie snatched the laptop away. “I think you’ve written enough,” said Rosie. This is my story.” And she continued on with her adventure whilst Thorin went away whistling, pleased that he had put a spoke into Lostwithiel’s love-life, at least for one night.)_

Thorin and Lostwithiel clattered around in the kitchen whilst Tauriel, Poppy and Rosie huddled over the teapot, just enjoying their time together. Arion made his way into the house from the stables and, selecting a couple of apples from a bowl, headed for the door again.

“Where are you off to, uncle Arion?” asked Rosie. 

“Oh, I just thought I’d explore a bit, perhaps climb the hill behind the house and check out the view.”

“Wait until I can make you a snack,” said Tauriel. “There’s a lovely lake just over the hill and you might feel tempted to walk further than you intend at the moment.”

Five minutes later, Arion thrust a packet of sandwiches into a shoulder bag and set out to climb the rocky hill behind the house. This was a whole new world and he meant to explore every inch of it.

_(“Good idea, Rosie,” said Thorin. “The more territory you describe him seeing, the further our geographical borders will extend.” And he patted her shoulder approvingly.)_

.o00o.

Mary Sue stared morosely at the old, abandoned gravel pit. It was a hot day, she was feeling miserable and she had hoped that some of her friends would be here. The pit, one among many on the western outskirts of London, was full of water and made an adequate swimming-hole for the local teenagers, although their parents were none too keen about it. “And don’t you dare go near that gravel pit!” they would shout on summer days when their children went out to meet their friends.

“Of course we won’t!” they would mutter back. But, of course, that’s where they always all finished up. It was a good meeting-place, tucked away quietly near Shepperton Studios, but some distance from any housing and shaded by clumps of trees. The water always looked inviting but they knew that their parents’ warnings were not empty threats: beneath the calm surface lurked rubbish and detritus, cast there by those who were too lazy to dump it in the appropriate place. And, once you entered the water, the ground sloped away beneath your feet very steeply and soon became very deep. Those who dared these waters had to be good swimmers if they didn’t want to risk being drowned.

Mary Sue sighed and propped her bike against a tree. Where was everyone? She needed a friend right now. And she raised a hand to gingerly touch the tender bruise on her cheekbone. Last night had been similar to many previous nights. She had argued with her stepfather and it had finished up with him hitting her. He was a very violent man who had attacked both her and her mother but when she challenged her mother on this, she had just got angry with her and said that she loved him and that it was none of her business.

“If I leave him, I shall be all alone – and I’m not getting any younger. You’ll soon be off to university – life is about to start for you. You’ll move to the other side of the country and I’ll see you only once in a blue moon. And, if I leave, what shall I do then? I’ll die a lonely old divorcee.”

There was no arguing with her: she was confident that her daughter was the catalyst for all their rows and, once she left home, things would be a lot better.

Mary Sue kicked off her sandals and paddled in the shallows. The water was so cool and soothing that she suddenly had the urge to strip off all her clothes and go for a good swim. You had to go skinny-dipping here because, if you returned home with wet clothes, your parents would want to know why. Everyone understood the constraint and would politely turn their heads when anyone took off their clothes. But, conversely, everyone kept a close eye on all those in the water because they were aware of the dangers.

Unfortunately, today she was all alone. But, she was so fed up that she didn’t care. And so, she undressed and folded her clothes neatly in a pile.

She edged into the water slowly. The gravel finally began to give under her feet as she entered deep water and she dived in. It was quite lovely at first but, in the end, she began to feel cold and she headed for the shore. Suddenly, her leg twisted with cramp. It was so agonising that she let her good foot down and began to feel for the bottom. But, it wasn’t there and she started to panic as the cramp only increased.

Then her problems got worse as the leg she was thrashing around with under the water, seeking some kind of purchase, became entangled in what felt like a bundle of wire. The more she struggled, the more entangled she became and, finally, with a gasp of despair, she sank beneath the surface.

.o00o.

_(“Mary Sue!” giggled Poppy, peeking over Rosie’s shoulder. “You’re not really going to call her that, are you?”_

_“Well,” said Rosie, “since that’s what you said my story was, that’s what it will be. Now, go away!!”)_

His mother had been right: the lake was beautiful and he would like to go for a stroll around it before he returned home. When he reached the margins, he sat down and began to munch on a sandwich, admiring the prospect.

Suddenly, he saw something strange in the water, like seaweed. But even he knew that you don’t get seaweed in a lake and he stood up to have a closer look. It trailed and floated in long tendrils not far from the shore and, as Arion stared, he suddenly realised that it wasn’t seaweed but human hair. He splashed into the water and managed to grab a handful, dragging the attached body to the shallows. It was a young girl! And he thrust his hands under her armpits and pulled her onto the grass.

He blinked, both at the shock of his discovery and also because she was naked. He gulped and wanted to avert his gaze but he knew he had to help her and would need both eyes – and hands – for the job. He didn’t know if she were dead or alive but he flipped her over onto her stomach and began to pump the water from her lungs. Quite quickly, much to his relief, she began to cough and splutter and he felt it was alright to turn her onto her side.

Arion found himself staring at her. She was small and delicate-looking with long, blond hair and a slender form. He blushed when she opened her eyes and caught him goggling and he looked around desperately for something to cover her with. Of course, there was nothing and so the only thing for it was to remove an item of his own clothing. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and finally tugged it frantically over his head. He placed it over her and was relieved to see that it stretched from neck to thigh.

“You’re safe now,” he managed to mutter in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “I’ll take you home to my parents and they’ll look after you.” He felt quite dazzled as he gazed into her beautiful eyes which were an unusual shade of violet-blue.

Mary Sue stared back at him. She was feeling very confused. The last thing she remembered was losing consciousness beneath the water of the gravel pit and feeling sure that she was drowning. And now, she had woken up by the side of a lake, a place she was quite confident that she didn’t recognise, being gawped at by a very handsome young man. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Er….Arion. And you are?”

“Mary Sue,” she croaked because her throat felt really raw. “How did I get here?”

He saw the confusion in her face and decided that he needed to get her back home as soon as possible. “Don’t let’s worry about that yet,” he said. “I’m going to help you into my shirt and then I think we need to get you back to my home.”

She stared down at herself and only then remembered that she had gone swimming with no clothes on. Her naked body was now covered by the young man’s shirt and, as her eyes wandered briefly over his smooth chest, her mind paused momentarily to register that he was very fit. He was blushing violently and, rather than feeling embarrassed at her nakedness, her lips quirked slightly as she thought how sweet and shy he was. He helped her to sit up and then did his best to pull his shirt over her head whilst not looking at the same time. Quite a feat, she thought, and almost burst out laughing.

But, when she tried to stand, she had no strength and began to tremble with the effort. And so, Arion lifted her up in his strong arms and began the trek back home. Mary Sue felt warm and safe as she leaned with her head upon his broad chest and Arion, holding a girl in his arms for the first time in his life, was feeling more than a little odd.

_(“Do you need me to take over yet, Rosie,” interrupted Arion, “with my more intimate thoughts about the way I am feeling with this girl in my arms, her head against my bare chest?”_

_“No, go away!” said Rosie. “We’re still at the romantic stage. We don’t want any rude thoughts intruding yet. I’ll call you when I need you.” And she shook her hand impatiently at him.)_

Arion felt very protective as he gazed down at the lovely girl in his arms; and she was as light as a feather. Mind you, once he had climbed the hill from the lake and was beginning to struggle down the other side, he was feeling pretty tired. And so he was glad when he saw Thorin hurrying towards him. His father relieved him of his burden and Mary Sue found that she had yet another broad chest on which to rest her head.

“What’s happened here?” asked Thorin. And Mary Sue really enjoyed the rumbling vibration that echoed through her ear as Arion’s father spoke in a deep baritone.

“I found her drowning in the lake, father,” replied Arion. “I have no idea who she is or where she’s from and, at the moment, neither does she. I think she’s in shock.”

Thorin’s long, powerful strides soon helped them to reach his forge and Tauriel came out to meet them. A strange girl lay with her eyes closed, nearly asleep on her husband’s chest, and the elf gently pushed away a strand of wet hair from the girl’s eyes.

“Poor little thing!” she exclaimed softly. “What on earth has happened to her?”

Explanations were briefly given and they entered the house. 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

_(“Have you got to the good bit yet?” asked Arion, tapping Rosie on the shoulder._

_“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Arion,” she replied. “You don’t have to sound so desperate.”_

_“Well, you might feel desperate too if you had waited as long as me to find out what goes on in the bedroom!”_

_Rosie laughed. “But, if you’re waiting to find out these secrets, how are you going to write about it in the first place? Perhaps you would be better off asking grandfather to write that section.”_

_“Ummm,” said Arion, looking thwarted. “There’s something in what you say but, like you, I also used to listen to the smutty talk up at the outpost. I’m sure I can cobble something together.”_

_Rosie laughed even louder. “And so you want this important event in your life to be something that you’ve ‘cobbled together’ from the dirty jokes of a bunch of soldiers? And it’s not as though many of them know what they’re talking about either.”_

_Arion looked glum and sighed. “I suppose I’d better have a father/son talk – which will be SO embarrassing.” And he stomped out of the room.)_

Thorin placed the girl on Rosie’s mattress in front of the fire and pulled a blanket up to her chin. Then he went to make her a hot drink whilst Tauriel knelt by her side, holding her hand, and Arion hovered anxiously. Poppy, Rosie and Lostwithiel stood in a corner and watched wide-eyed.

“Tell us about yourself, my dear,” Tauriel asked gently, “and how you came to finish up in that lake.”

Mary Sue looked at the beautiful woman with the strange, pointed ears who talked to her in such a kindly manner. “I don’t know how I got here,” she said. “I went swimming in a flooded gravel pit near my home just outside Shepperton. I got into difficulties and lost consciousness; then, when I came to, I was here, a place I just don’t recognise…….I feel so mixed up.” And she began to cry.

“Now look what you’ve done, mother,” snapped Arion. “You’ve made her cry.” He edged Tauriel out of the way and squeezed the girl’s hand in sympathy.

“It’s all right. I’m here now,” he said, and he kissed her forehead. “Just don’t worry about anything. Everything will come back to you in the end and, in the meantime, you have us to care for you.”

She gave him a sweet smile that pierced his heart and made him feel quite dizzy for a few moments. Thorin came back with a cup of tea and Arion helped her sit up and prop herself against his shoulder whilst he held the cup of tea to her lips. He wondered why he felt so nurturing. He had not had this feeling when Poppy was born: he certainly hadn’t wanted to look after her but had found her presence an irritating burden. But he could have sat by Mary Sue’s side and comforted her all day long.

She dozed for a little after the tea whilst the rest of the family chatted quietly amongst themselves, discussing the best way forward.

“Where do you think she ought to sleep?” asked Thorin.

“Mmm, yes,” answered Lostwithiel. “Poppy and I think she ought to have our room – for a bit of privacy, you know - and then we can go down the hill and ask the elves to put us up for a few days.”

They all agreed that this was a good idea so Tauriel and Arion went off to get the room ready.

“And put a shirt on,” called Thorin after him, “and stop prancing around showing off that fine chest of yours!”

Arion flushed. He had totally forgotten about the shirt and wondered what the girl must think of him.

Freshly attired, he helped his mother change the sheets in the guest bedroom.

“I’m a bit worried about leaving her on her own,” he confided. “It’s a bit cut off from the rest of the house out here and she might be ill in the night. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor but the others might not approve.”

Tauriel smiled at her son’s proprietorial manner over their new guest and felt a slight touch of excitement that Arion appeared so taken with a girl at last. Mary Sue seemed such a sweet young thing and her busy mother’s mind was already leaping forward and imagining how she might fit in with the rest of the family. But she was also worried. Who was she? Where did she come from? She had never heard of her home, Sheppey Town, and it concerned her. She didn’t want her son losing his heart to a girl who would suddenly disappear as quickly as she had come and yet she couldn’t help but give Arion a bit of a prod.

“Oh, don’t worry, Arion. If Mary Sue doesn’t mind then I’m sure that we won’t. You’re a good, trustworthy lad and we can see that she is already becoming attached to you. And, when your father was ill for days after the Battle of the Five Armies, I slept on a truckle bed for a week or more in his bedroom and no-one thought anything of it.”

If his mother had told him about this a few hours earlier, before he had set out for the lake, he would have raised an eyebrow in disapproval. But now, the world seemed a different place, with a different set of rules.

“Well,” he said mildly, “I’m sure everyone thought that you and father were two upright people who knew better than to get up to mischief together.”

Tauriel couldn’t resist having a bit of a tease. “But, they would have been wrong,” she grinned. “We had already slept with each other some weeks earlier.”

She had finally provoked a shocked look. “Mother!” he said, turning pink. “I’m surprised at you….And I don’t think I want to know these details! Father should be ashamed of himself.”

Tauriel laughed. “It takes two you know – or perhaps you don’t know.” And she laughed even louder.

“But you and father…..I’ve always thought of you as being……so good. And I’ve tried to live up to you both.”

“We know you have, Arion,” she said gently, touching his arm. “But, you know, sometimes you have to find your own way and make your own decisions.” And she kissed him on the cheek. “Now, let’s go and ask Mary Sue if she wants you sleeping on the floor of her room for a few nights and see what she says.” 

.o00o.

_(“Father,” said Arion to Thorin as he worked in his forge. “I need a serious chat with you.”_

_“Oh, yes,” said Thorin absently, hammering away. “What about?”_

_“Well, you know I’ve said I want to write my own paragraphs about – you know….?”_

_Thorin did know and guessed what was coming next. His hammering abruptly stopped. He cleared his throat and said: “Erm – anything you’d like to know, son, just ask.”_

_And Arion certainly did ask. His desire to do right by Mary Sue was so overriding that he sat his father down and asked every single thing about sex he could think of and then he wanted every single excrutiatingly embarrassing detail. Strangely, it wasn’t Arion who felt uncomfortable – he was just too excited about finding out what the fuss was all about at last – it was Thorin. His father tried to answer him as openly and candidly as possible but he squirmed at the exchanges that passed between them._

_“Well,” said Arion, sitting back at last and grinning with satisfaction. “So, it’s true what they say about you.”_

_“And what’s that?” asked Thorin._

_“That what you don’t know about love isn’t worth knowing.”_

_“Do they really say that?” asked his father. And he smiled rather smugly into his beard.)_

Mary Sue assured Arion that it would be very comforting if he slept in her room and no-one seemed shocked by the idea. He carried her to her new bed and then sat chatting with her whilst the rest of them drifted in and out, getting to know her and trying to work out how she had finished up in the lake. They made no progress and, in the end, Lostwithiel went down to the harbour to fetch back with him the wisest person they knew: Gandalf. He listened carefully to all the details of her experience and then finally drew a conclusion. They all sat around him, listening intently to his words.

“I have to conclude that Mary Sue is not of our world,” he said quietly. “She comes from a different place and a different time. Who knows how she got here or if she will ever return there again?”

They all looked serious and accepted what he had said without demur, including Mary Sue. Things were just too weird for her not to believe what Gandalf was saying. But, it was still a huge idea to absorb and she burst into tears. Arion put his arm around her and gave her a firm hug.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You must live with us and we shall help you find your way in our world.”

She thanked him through her tears and, feeling his strong arm about her, felt absolutely and completely safe.

.o00o.

Pt IV

The first night that they shared the room together, they were both so tired that they fell asleep immediately and slept heavily. Mary Sue was the first to wake up in the morning and she looked for a long time at Arion as he lay on a bedroll on the floor. He was totally and utterly gorgeous. His black, curling locks, like his father’s, fell halfway down his back. His features were not as strong as his father’s: they were more delicate like those of his elven mother and very well-formed. His bare arm, which lay outside the coverlet, was powerful and muscular after all the activity and training up at the former outpost; and his body was lithe and graceful. Who wouldn’t fall for such a man, especially since he was so sweet and kind too? Mary Sue wasn’t afraid of these sudden and powerful feelings because she somehow knew that Arion felt the same way about her. The attraction had been immediate and mutual; moreover, his family was warm and welcoming and, in spite of all the strangeness of the past 24 hours, she was feeling a happy confidence in her future.

She wondered what was happening back home. She could imagine that, when her clothes were found, divers would search the gravel pit. Then, perhaps, when there was no body, the police might conclude that the clothes were a red herring and that she had run away. She hoped that this is what her mother would think – that it would console her to believe that she was alive somewhere in the world, and perhaps she would live with the hope that her daughter would one day return.

Then Arion woke up and his sleepy blue eyes locked with hers. “Good morning,” he said.

She was wearing a pretty but modest nightgown, given to her by Tauriel, and he helped her from her bed to a chair and brushed her hair for her. It was so beautiful, he thought. Now that it had dried, it was a silvery blond colour, a great mass but very fine. Then he left her to her ablutions whilst he went and made breakfast. Just as he had put this on a tray, she appeared at the door of the hall, wrapped in a borrowed robe, and had breakfast with the whole family. It was a very enjoyable experience for everyone.

They all passed a quiet day together but she felt tired early in the evening and he helped her back to her room. He got undressed and into his own nightshirt, changing modestly behind a screen, and then he lay down on his bedroll. They talked easily to each other for a while and then Arion asked if she wanted to sleep, reaching up to turn off the bedside lamp.

.o00o.

_(“Right, that’s it,” said Arion, taking the laptop from Rosie. “I’ve waited long enough.” She threw up her hands and gave over her chair to him._

_“Fair enough,” she said with a grin. “It’s all yours. Have a good time!”)_

“No, don’t turn off the lamp yet,” she said. “I’m thinking that you’re looking very uncomfortable down on that floor.”

“Well, yes, I am a bit,” he replied with a wry smile, “but you’re not to worry about it.”

“Oh, but I am worrying,” she laughed, and suddenly flung back the coverlet. “Come on,” she said quietly. “You can share my bed.”

.o00o.

 _(They had all been edging up behind Arion and were now peering over his shoulder._

_“Go on,” said Poppy breathlessly. “Don’t stop now!”_

_“Yes,” growled Thorin. “I’d like to know if all my tips worked out in the end.”_

_“And I’d like to know,” added Lostwithiel, “if Thorin’s ideas on lovemaking are any better than mine. So, go on, finish the story!”_

_“And I wouldn’t mind collecting together some suggestions for when it’s my turn too,” giggled Rosie. “So, why have you stopped?”_

_“I’ve stopped,” said Arion with great dignity, “because it’s none of your business.”_

_“Awww, spoilsport,” they all complained._

_“But,” added Arion and they all looked up expectantly, “let it be said that we had a wonderful time together and I would like to thank my father for helping me through this difficult experience with all his top-notch advice.”_

_“Yes,” murmured Mary Sue, her eyes glowing, “we spent a marvellous night together. I can’t tell you how much I already love this family but, I must admit,” – and she bent down and kissed the tip of his ear – “that I love Arion most of all.”_

_And, with that, she reached over his shoulder and snapped the laptop closed._

_“The end,” she said._

_“What, really?” asked Tauriel, a little startled._

_“Who knows?” said Thorin and gave his wife a passionately tender kiss._

_“Not looking,” said Arion…….)_

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin, Crime and Punishment. Finally, Poppy finds out the dark secret in Lostwithiel's past life. Will she forgive him or will she want to punish him? Knowing Poppy, I think that the second choice is the likeliest option. And she'll use the laptop to take her revenge.


	33. Thorin, Crime and Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here’s another of the new-style stories which hinge on the idea that the Oakenshields are now using their laptop to write their own chapters. My husband who reads a lot of SF and fantasy stories tut-tutted at this one. He enjoyed it but feels that I have not given the “rules” of this new concept, where two realities overlap, sufficient thought or explanation. I would agree but I didn’t want to make the episode too laboured. So, I would like to ask you just to read and accept – and hopefully be amused by - what is going on without too much close analysis about how the whole thing “works”. But, I’d really like to hear your opinion after you get to the end.
> 
>  
> 
> This one happens shortly after the arrival of our new character, Mary Sue. Lostwithiel has a secret, as we all know by now, and Poppy is determined to get to the bottom of it. How much grief will she bring to herself, to her husband and to Tauriel and Thorin by trying to resurrect things that might best be left alone?

  
 

 

Thorin, Crime and Punishment

 

Pt I

 

Mary Sue and Arion had exchanged silver rings and had happily made up the double bed in Thorin’s guest bedroom.

 

“We’ll have to build our own house soon,” said Poppy to her husband, as she brushed her golden curls in front of the bedroom mirror.  They were in the gently swaying tree-house to which they had removed themselves in an act of generosity after Mary Sue’s arrival.

 

“Mmm,” said Lostwithiel the elf lord, not really listening.  He was lying on top of the bed, propped up on one elbow and admiring his wife’s delightful hair and the graceful movement of the brush.

 

“I’m like my father, really,” continued Poppy.  “I don’t really like tree houses.  I mean, the elves were very kind to let us have this one for the moment.  And it’s only just a short walk from the forge.  But the constant swaying makes me feel a bit nauseous.  Reminds me of the boat we took to Gondor.”

 

“Mmm,” said Lostwithiel again, wondering how much longer it would take his wife to stop chattering and come to bed.

 

“And speaking of Thorin….”  She turned around with a naughty twinkle in her eye.

 

“We were?” asked the elf, trying to focus on the conversation.

 

“Don’t think I’m going to let you wriggle out of things,” she grinned, as she got up and crossed the room, waving the brush accusingly at him.

 

Lostwithiel blinked.  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her.  It seemed a safe thing to say when he hadn’t the foggiest what she was going on about.

 

“Good,” she said, “because it’s about time you told me what went on between you and my mother that always makes my father look so angry with you.”  And she lay down beside him on the bed and dug him in the ribs with her brush.

 

The elf lord gulped.  He had to concede that he was surprised that he had got away with this for so long.  Admittedly, it had happened before she was born but his wife was amazingly alert to family gossip.  She had been putting two and two together for years now and he only hoped she wasn’t about to make four.

 

Poppy, meanwhile, was actually amused at the idea that her husband had, ages ago, had a crush on her mother and that her father had been annoyed and even jealous enough to beat up Lostwithiel because of it.  Her sister, Rose, had told her about this incident but even Rose had only known a little about it because she and Arion had been staying with Aunt Dis at the time and weren’t exactly witness to it.  The two children had, however, seen the bruises that Thorin had turned up with, not all acquired during an orc attack they had discovered.  But that’s all that the children ever found out about the situation.

 

However, the topic had been raised yet again only a couple of days ago and her mother had snapped that it was none of her business.  But, that made the whole affair even more intriguing.  ‘Thiel was easily manipulated and in the hiatus whilst they waited for someone to pick up the laptop and write their next story, Poppy felt she had plenty of time in which to worm the whole story out of her husband.

 

She ran a cool finger down his face, then down his neck to the top buttons of his shirt which she languidly began to undo.  “Come on, ‘Thiel.  It must be hard keeping a secret for so long.  You know I’ll forgive you, whatever it was.  Unburden yourself.  Share it with me.”  She kissed him gently on the lips.  “You know you want to,” she whispered softly.

 

And, yes, he did want to.  It had been a great burden to bear for such a long time.  There was nothing that his wife didn’t know about him – except this.  And a confession trembled on his lips.

 

Poppy saw him wavering and grinned to herself.  Her mother was such a beautiful woman that if someone had told Poppy that the whole of Middle-earth was in love with the elf woman, it wouldn’t have surprised her.  In fact, she was so proud of Tauriel that she would just have assumed that it was her mother’s due.  She wasn’t jealous.  Whatever feelings ‘Thiel might once have had for her were obviously long past.  He loved his wife now and she felt complete confidence in that love.  But she just couldn’t leave the subject of ‘Thiel’s secret alone.

 

“Shall we make love?” she whispered and she took his ear lobe between her sharp, white teeth and tugged gently.

 

Lostwithiel shivered.  “Yes, please,” he muttered back, his voice shaky with desire.

 

“Well, fair exchange,” she murmured.  “Just tell me a teensy bit about you and my mother.  Were you in love with her?”

 

“A bit,” he gasped as she ran her hand inside his shirt.  “She was very beautiful you know.”  And he decided that there was no harm in telling her a small part of the story.

 

Poppy undid a few more of his buttons until his shirt was open to the waist, then bent her head so that her lips lightly brushed his chest.  “When did it all start?” she pressed.  “When you both lived at Thranduil’s palace in Mirkwood?”

 

“N-no,” he stuttered, feeling for the buttons on her bodice.  “It happened a lot later – when she became my captain up at the outpost.”

 

Poppy held his wrist firmly and stopped his progress.  “That’s interesting,” she murmured.  “So, what was the trigger?”

 

“Sh-she married your father.”  He tried again for the buttons but she still held his hand trapped in her own.

 

“How very curious,” she said, her brow wrinkling.  “Why on earth should that make a difference to the way you felt about her?”

 

Suddenly, Lostwithiel sensed that he had crossed a line and given his wife too much information.  If only her nearness wasn’t so distracting and then perhaps he could concentrate better.  “Umm, well, you know: elf and dwarf, dwarf and elf.  It wasn’t exactly on.”

 

Poppy sat up, suddenly feeling quite disturbed at the direction of the conversation.  “But why should my mother being married to a dwarf make her seem more attractive?”

 

Lostwithiel knew he had said too much and bit his lip anxiously.  The silence grew between them and the elf lord sat up too, looking away from his wife’s penetrating stare.

 

Her lip began to tremble.  “You know,” she said, “for years I’ve always been amused at the thought of you and my mother and imagined that it must have been a bit of silliness – that you had fallen in love with her and had mooned around, worshipping her from afar.  And then my jealous father found out and beat you up.  I always felt sorry for you…….But there was something more, wasn’t there?”

 

The silence stretched out.

 

“You WILL tell me, ‘Thiel,” said Poppy.  “There should be truth and honesty between us, not lies and deceit.  For the sake of our marriage, I need to know.”

 

Lostwithiel sighed.  Perhaps she was right.  If he told her the truth then there was a chance that she would understand and forgive him, just as Tauriel and even Thorin had done.  Now that he had started, there seemed to be no turning back.  He shut his eyes and leaned back against the bed head.

 

“It happened so long ago.  How can you possibly understand what things were like back then – how we all responded to – certain situations?  This is going to be very difficult.  I’m not quite sure that I can explain to you how it all came about.”

 

“Try me,” she said, and her voice had such a steely edge that he felt forced to carry on.  He felt very tired and, in a toneless voice, began to tell his wife about the most shameful incident in his entire life.  She had asked for honesty and he tried to give it to her, travelling back in his mind’s eye with as accurate an account as possible of times past.

 

“I know that things are still a bit – edgy – between elves and dwarves but, before you were born, it was an awful lot worse and the relationship amounted to hatred,” he started.  “Thorin always said that there were some things he could never forgive and some that he never forgot; but that’s the way that most elves felt about our common history too.”  He grinned wanly.  “You should have been there that night in the Grey Havens at Thranduil’s mansion when your mother and father turned up and announced their betrothal – the ripples of shock and disgust that ran through the room were palpable.”

 

Poppy looked angry and on the defensive.  “But, surely you didn’t feel that way?” she asked.  “You’re my father’s friend.”

 

“Not then,” he continued tiredly.  “I hated dwarves as much as anyone and a group of us got together that evening and tried to break up the betrothal.”

 

Poppy gasped and threw him a look of disbelief.

 

“It didn’t work, of course, and a year later, after they got married and Arion was born, your mother was asked to set up the outpost and I was appointed her second in command.  She was absolutely wonderful – I think all the men fell in love with her a bit then – but I was the only one who knew she was married to a dwarf.  I finally told them all, of course, and the men turned against her and treated her very badly.”

 

“I knew nothing of this,” whispered Poppy.  “All my lovely friends – Lithin, Borondin and the rest – I can hardly believe it.  You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

 

“Of course we’re ashamed – now.  But we weren’t then.  It seems like another world and another time where hatred and disgust were appropriate emotions .  That’s why it’s difficult to explain.”

 

“Go on,” she said quietly and she took hold of his hand.  Her touch reassured him and Lostwithiel continued.

 

“We were all talking behind her back.  The relationship between your mother and father just seemed so wrong and we began to make quite – repugnant – remarks about why she would have married a dwarf in the first place.  Somehow my little crush was turned into something unpleasantly – sexual.”  Poppy’s hand tightened on his and the elf returned the pressure, hoping that she was understanding his explanation, even if only in a small way.  It gave him the courage to press on.

 

“Borondin and I were on guard duty one night.  I found myself outside your mother’s open window – and I climbed through.”

 

Poppy’s breath caught in her throat.  “What happened?” she asked and was afraid to hear the answer.

 

Lostwithiel had never been honest about the next bit, not even to himself and he was silent for a few minutes, trying to find the courage to say what needed to be said.  “I tried to rape her,” he finally muttered.  Poppy let out a forceful gasp as if someone had punched her in the stomach and she pulled her fingers from his grasp.  He turned to look at her.  “She was too strong for me.  She broke my nose.”  And he absentmindedly touched the small bump on his nose that was the only blemish to his beauty.

 

Poppy backed away from him across the bed and then stood, her eyes wide.  “I don’t know you, Lostwithiel,” she finally said and she swayed a little on the spot.

 

“No, I don’t know me from that time either,” her husband concurred and his eyes pleaded with her.  “Your mother forgave me immediately.  And your father came to forgive me too.  I love them both.”

 

Poppy continued to stare at him in shock.  “But, I can’t forgive you,” she said.  “I shall never forgive you.”

 

He tried to reason with her: “We need to talk about it.  I’ve tried to be honest and now we need to talk.”

 

But, she put her hand to her eyes and shook her head.  “No, you are not the man I thought I had married.  There is nothing to talk about.  And now I want you to leave because I cannot bear to be in the same room as you.”

 

He heard her voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.  Perhaps she would listen tomorrow.  And so he picked up his things and left.  Poppy stood for long moments staring into space after the door had  shut quietly behind him and then she threw herself on the bed and wept.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Lostwithiel stood outside the tree house for some minutes wondering where to go.  In the end, he headed up the hill to seek the advice of his two best friends, Tauriel and Thorin.  It was late and, when he got to the forge, most of the house was in darkness.  But after he had quietly opened the front door, he found Tauriel in the living-room holding two cups of tea.

 

“’Thiel!” she said, immediately concerned.  “What’s happened?  Where’s Poppy?”

 

The elf lord sat down at the table and sighed.  “I’m glad you’re here, Tauriel.  She’s kicked me out and now I don’t know what to do.”

 

Tauriel put down the cups and sat next to him, an encouraging hand placed over his whilst  Lostwithiel explained what had happened.  She gave his hand a pat.  “She’ll be more sensible in the morning.  You know how pragmatic my daughter is.  I’ll go and have a word with her tomorrow.”  And he gave her a grateful smile.

 

“Where’s Thorin?” he asked.  “I hope he won’t be mad with me.”

 

“He’s down in the harbour town for a couple of nights, explaining to everyone there about the laptop and how we shall be writing our own stories from now on.”

 

Then she nodded to the fireplace.  “Rosie has moved her stuff from the fireside out to the stable now that Arion has moved into the guest bedroom with Mary Sue and I shall be sleeping out there tonight with her because she said she was feeling a bit under the weather.”  And she gestured to the two cups of tea.  “So, you might as well sleep in my room, at least until Thorin comes back.  Let’s hope by then that Poppy will have got over this business.”

 

And so Tauriel found herself changing sheets yet again, this time with Lostwithiel’s grateful help; and soon the lamp on the dining room table had been turned down and everyone had retired to their beds. 

 

.o00o.

 

Poppy, meanwhile, was unable to get to sleep.  She lay wide awake in her bed with a whole succession of horrifying images running through her head as she thought about what her husband had tried to do to her mother.  No wonder her father had tried to kill him!  What she was finding difficult to understand was how her parents had decided to forgive him because she knew that she never would.

 

She felt so angry and her anger grew and heated to such a degree that, in the end, she couldn’t lie in bed any longer but got up and dressed and then set out for the forge.  She had to talk to her mother and she had to do it now, even if it meant waking her up.  She vaguely remembered her father saying that he was thinking of going down to the harbour for a couple of days which might be just as well.  If this was so, she could corner her parents one at a time.  She wondered where her husband had gone.  Not the forge, she decided.  He would be too embarrassed to admit to her mother that he had revealed his dreadful secret to her.  No, he would have gone down to the harbour and sought refuge there, she decided.  Or perhaps, if he wanted to avoid her father, he was camping out in the nearby woods.

 

At the moment, she hated ‘Thiel and wanted some kind of vengeful punishment to be inflicted on him.  A punch on the nose from Thorin all those years ago was definitely not enough to satisfy her.  When she got to the forge, the only light was from a solitary lamp on the dining-room table.  And then she knew what she would do.  Rather than wake up her mother, she got out the lap-top from its cupboard and began to type.  She would write a story about her husband.  Yes, that would fix him.  And she would call it Crime and Punishment.  She set out her title and then she began……..

 

Crime and Punishment

 

…….In the early hours of the morning, Thorin toiled up the hill from the harbour.  He hadn’t intended to return home until the following day, but he had had a good chat with everyone and had then tried to get comfortable in one of the tree houses.  He had failed, however.  Tree houses were just not his thing and, after tossing and turning for a few hours, he had finally got dressed and had set out for home beneath the calm and soothing silvery beams of a crescent moon.

 

He grinned to himself as he walked.  Tauriel would be pleased to see him, he thought.  Well, he would definitely be pleased to see her.  He hated spending time apart from her and was glad that his business down in the harbour had concluded so swiftly, even if it had been nice to socialise with so many old friends.

 

No lights shone from the house as he approached which was only to be expected since it was the middle of the night, but when he opened the front door, he found a table lamp faintly glowing which meant that he didn’t have to stumble around in the dark.

 

Quietly, he took off his boots and then his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair.  Then he opened the door of his bedroom.  There were no windows in the cave section of the house and so he left the door slightly ajar so that he didn’t trip over anything.  His grin grew more lupine as he saw Tauriel’s golden hair, spread out on the pillow and gleaming faintly in the soft shaft of light from the dining room.

 

Carefully, he lifted the coverlet and slid beneath the sheets.  The bed was warm and cosy after the coolness of the night air.  Tauriel lay with her back towards him and he edged slowly towards her, thinking how surprised she was going to be.  He touched her hair gently and let a few strands slide through his fingers.  She stirred slightly and sighed in her sleep.  Then he wrapped himself around her and slipped his hand about her waist…..

 

…And then he froze.

 

Lostwithiel turned sleepily in Thorin’s arms, having happy dreams that Poppy had forgiven him.  Still not awake, he bent forward and kissed her.  But his dreams became uneasy as he sensed that something wasn’t quite right.  He opened one eye…..  And froze.

 

Thorin was the first to react.  “Lostwithiel!” he hissed.  And then he leaped out of the bed and stumbled to the door whilst the elf sat there looking dazed and horrified. 

 

His mind racing, the dwarf found his boots and thrust his feet into them.  Where was Tauriel?  Just then, the kitchen door opened, and there stood his wife, clutching two hot drinks, looking very beautiful but dishevelled – and guilty, he decided – dressed in a lovely silken robe which was hanging half open.

 

Thorin gave her one, deeply wounded glance and then, stuffing his clothes under his arm and with his head held high, he marched out of the house and disappeared into the night.

 

Lostwithiel came stumbling stark naked out of the bedroom, looking wildly around for the dwarf.  Tauriel rolled her eyes.  She was surrounded by men without their clothes on and it was no longer funny.  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she snapped at the elf lord.  “Get dressed!”  And she turned on her heel, went back into the kitchen and slapped down her two mugs in exasperation.  Rosie, feeling rather unwell out in the stable, would certainly not be getting the comforting mug of camomile tea she had promised her any time soon.

 

By the time she came out of the kitchen, Lostwithiel had re-emerged from the bedroom.  He had flung on some clothes and was hopping on one foot trying to get a boot on.  He looked wild-eyed and despairing.

 

“He got into bed, Tauriel, and thought I was you!” he gasped.  “And I was dreaming that he was Poppy and….and….I kissed him!”  And he stared at her in horror.  Tauriel stared back at him for a moment and then she burst into hysterical laughter.

 

“’Thiel,” she choked, “if this wasn’t all so horribly awful then it would be the funniest thing I’ve experienced all year.  By Eru, I wish I could have seen his face!”  And she broke into hysterics again and sat down on a chair.  “And the way he marched out of here with just his boots on…”  And her laughter continued until Lostwithiel became quite worried and sat next to her with an arm around her heaving shoulders.

 

“Tauriel,” he said tentatively.  “Are you all right?”

 

“No,” she gulped and she lay her head on his shoulder and wept.  “You should have seen the look he gave me,” she said.  “And I can only guess at what must be going on in that stupid dwarf’s head.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

_(Poppy paused in her typing for a moment and bit a fingernail.  She wanted to punish her husband but she was also punishing Thorin and Tauriel in the process.  She hesitated to go on and wondered whether or not to delete what she had written so far.  But, in the end, she decided that she was angry enough with her parents to involve them in her plot.  After all, they had known about Lostwithiel and yet they hadn’t warned her.  Her mother had been quite enthusiastic – even pushy - when she had fallen in love with him; and her father, although he wasn’t so keen, had gone up to the outpost and had enabled their betrothal by suggesting to the elf ways in which he and Poppy could reach a compromise.  And not a single word had either of her parents said about this horrible incident which would certainly have affected her decision if only she had known.  If she had known, she might have married Roger instead.  And now, rather than living in this dull place out in the sticks, she would be a rich widow, enjoying a life of luxury in the Grey Havens._

_In the end, Poppy decided that they deserved to be punished too and she carried on typing…..)_

Thorin strode blindly down the hill for a short distance, trying not to think.  And then he veered off into a nearby wood and put his clothes on.  He stood there wondering what to do next and, feeling overwhelmed by confusion, finally slumped to the ground with his back to a tree.

 

He closed his eyes.  Don’t think, don’t think, he told himself!  You always go barking up the wrong tree when you think!  But he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wildly whirling about in his head.

 

His wife and his friend had not expected him back that night.  And, when he had arrived home – unexpectedly – in the middle of the night – there was Lostwithiel, naked, in Thorin’s bed and there was Tauriel, half-dressed, standing in the kitchen doorway, a hot drink in each hand.  The elf lord must have thought he was Tauriel, returning to the bed, and he had turned and kissed him.  Thorin passed the back of his hand across his lips with remembered disgust.

 

So, the question was: how long had this been going on for?  And the obvious answer was: it had been going on forever.

 

He reckoned it could be traced right back to that incident up at the outpost.  Tauriel had forgiven Lostwithiel so quickly and had persuaded him that he was being silly to hold a grudge against him.  They had had a big argument about it and she had made him feel dwarvish in his jealousies, mean and inadequate.  And, by Mahal, how inadequate had he felt when he had made odious comparisons between himself and the handsome, quick-witted elf lord!?  And he began to wonder again, for the first time in years, why Tauriel had chosen him and not one of her own kind.

 

It seemed to Thorin that the elf lord had always haunted his dreams, even before he had known about the attack upon his wife: none of the other elves had affected him in this way and he had to conclude that he must have sensed that Lostwithiel was his only true rival.  Even when he had mistakenly believed that his wife had run off with Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood had never entered his nightmares in the same way that Lostwithiel had done down the years.  Thorin had always wondered why: perhaps he should have listened more closely to what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

 

After he had found out about the “incident”, the thing that had tormented him the most was the thought that Tauriel had been in bed with such a beautiful creature as Lostwithiel – and, even if she had subsequently broken his nose and kicked him out, surely Thorin must have been the object of comparison in her head?  Even I would have found the elf more attractive, snorted Thorin to himself, and I’m a dwarf!  And a bloke!

 

Then there were those years and years which she had spent up at the outpost with Lostwithiel whilst he – all trusting and unsuspecting – looked after the children down in the forge.  What a fool he had been!  She had given signs that she wasn’t perfectly satisfied with her married life, like the time when he had found her kissing Thurstan, a rider from Rohan.  She had brushed off his anger and had told him not to be silly.  And then she had taken him in her arms and everything had been forgotten.

 

How she must have missed her lover in recent years since they had arrived in the Undying Lands!  He remembered how, every day, she would scan the horizon for a ship from the Grey Havens and, every time a new one arrived, she had been first down to the dock.  And when he had finally arrived on the last ship, she had thrown her arms around him and had held him tightly to her breast!  Why had he not guessed then?  Thorin conveniently forgot at this moment that he, too, had embraced the elf lord and had held him tightly in his arms, overwhelmed with emotion as he was reunited with his old friend once more.

 

So, what was he to do now?  If he returned in the morning, they were bound to beg for his forgiveness and he would doubtless give it to them.  Life would carry on as before and he would always suspect that their relationship was continuing behind his back.

 

Thorin fingered his sword.  Or, he thought, he could put an end to things now as he should have done years ago.  He could return to the forge and run the elf through.  But, they were in the Undying Lands and he wasn’t quite sure that this would work.

 

Or, perhaps best of all, he could make his son-in-law an object of odium, rejected by his community and cast out by his wife (where _was_ Poppy, by the way?)  Yes, for an immortal being, this would be an eternal sentence.  And Thorin got to his feet deciding that this was what he would do.

 

_(“Poppy!” gasped Tauriel.  And the startled Poppy looked up to find her mother staring over her shoulder.  “What on earth is this cruel story you’re writing!?  What on earth has your father ever done that you would want to put him through so much misery?”_

_Poppy tried to shut the laptop but her mother stayed her hand.  “I believe, Poppy, you’ve got some explaining to do, don’t you think?” she said severely and Poppy felt like a naughty little girl again, being caught out in some mischief._

_She looked sullen. “He deserved it,” she muttered.  “You all deserve it!”_

_Tauriel sat down next to her daughter and took her by the shoulders.  “Tell me,” she commanded._

_And so Poppy told her all about Lostwithiel’s confession and the pain she had felt and the anger that she was still feeling for her husband and how this anger extended to both her mother and her father because they had never told her and had even encouraged her to marry him.  When she had finished, she glared defiantly at her mother, daring her to tell her off.  But Tauriel opened her arms and pulled her down upon her shoulder and kissed her hair.  Poppy began to cry softly.  “I’ve made such a mess of things, mother,” she said.  “Make it better.”_

_And so, after she had dried her daughter’s eyes, Tauriel sat up to the laptop.  “My turn,” she said with a smile.  But she knew that mopping up her daughter’s mess might prove a bit tricky.)_

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thorin strapped his sword to his back and, with a determined look on his face, he climbed the hill once more to his forge.  When he got to the front door, he flung it open without hesitation and strode inside.  Tauriel stood before the fireplace on her own, her arms folded and with a rather grim look on her face.  She looked as though she were expecting him.  That was the trouble with his wife.  She knew him really well and that was probably why she found it so easy to deceive and betray him.

 

“Where’s Lostwithiel?” he asked, glancing around the room.

 

“Back in bed,” she replied curtly.

 

“Waiting for you?” he sneered.  But it hurt him to say it.

 

“Well, if he’s waiting for anyone, it’s likely to be Poppy,” she said with a raised eyebrow.  “He was in such a state after that debacle that I made him a sleeping draught and sent him back to our room.”

 

The thought of the elf asleep in their marital bed was a very disturbing one for Thorin and he couldn’t believe that Tauriel was showing no shame.

 

“So,” he said, trying to take control of the situation, “how long has this been going on for?”

 

Tauriel gave a sigh of irritation.  “Nothing has been going on, Thorin.  It’s all in your vivid imagination.”

 

He faced her angrily, standing only a few inches away.  “I’m not a fool,” he growled.  “I come home unexpectedly to find that elf in our bed and you swanning around half-dressed.  It’s been going on for years, hasn’t it?”  His blue eyes blackened as he stared into her own, trying to read the truth in her response.  He was expecting a violent row involving a whole string of denials.  And so, she caught him on the back foot when she gently reached out a hand and tenderly ran it down one of his braids.

 

“I love your plaits,” she whispered.

 

He stiffened.  That gentle touch made him want to reach out and touch her face in return.  He wanted to lean forward and kiss her.  But he refused to respond to her game.  Instead, he batted her fingers away.  She looked hurt and Thorin felt cruel.

 

“So, where’s Poppy?” he snarled.  “What does she think of all this?”  And he pointed to their bedroom door.

 

“I have no idea,” she replied.  “She managed to worm out of ‘Thiel the whole story of that incident up at the outpost.  She kicked him out and he came here to ask us for advice.”

 

“Ah, yes,” said Thorin triumphantly, “but he knew I wouldn’t be here.”

 

“Are you sure?” asked Tauriel.  “I overheard you mentioning it to Poppy as she left, but can you be certain that she told her husband?”

 

“Yes – no – of course she did,” the dwarf harrumphed.  “That’s why he came here.  He knew he’d get some ‘comfort’ from you whilst I was out of the way.”

 

“Do you know,” Tauriel mused, “I really feel like stamping my foot in frustration at the moment.  But I might just kiss you instead.”  And she leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on his lips.  And Thorin was annoyed with himself when he didn’t jerk away but responded. 

 

But, when the kiss was over, he glared at her and said: “You’re so manipulative, Tauriel, but it won’t work this time.  I’m going to tell the whole community about Lostwithiel’s attack on you and about your affair.  Poppy will cast him off and all our friends will be so shocked that they won’t have anything more to do with him.”

 

He had taken a step backwards, away from her, but now she took a step forwards and closed the distance between them.  Her face was so close to his own that he felt her breath upon him.  An amused smile played about her lips.  “And what about me, Thorin?  Are you going to cast me off too?”

 

He hadn’t thought that far.  If he did cast her off, she would go and live with Lostwithiel and he couldn’t bear the thought.

 

“No,” he said with a self-righteous lift of his chin.  “I shall need a housekeeper.  You can stay on and look after me.  And perhaps you can make up for all your betrayal over the years.”

 

Tauriel was trying not to laugh.  “And where is this housekeeper going to sleep?” she asked with a slight twitch of her lips.

 

Thorin opened his mouth and then closed it.  There was a long pause.  Then: “In my bed,” he finally growled.  Tauriel let out a ripple of laughter and Thorin felt as though she had caught him out in some way.  “It’s your punishment, not mine,” he added angrily.  “I don’t see why I should suffer.”

 

Tauriel suddenly looked very serious.  “Have you the smallest idea how hurt I am that you have chosen to believe the worst of me?  That, after all my years of loving you, my reward is total distrust?  Perhaps you should go out to the stable and ask your granddaughter where I was sleeping tonight and if I was in the kitchen fetching us both a tea because she wasn’t feeling very well.  I gave Lostwithiel our bed because he had nowhere to go after his row with Poppy and I planned to sort out their married life in the morning.  But it looks as though I can’t even sort out my own.”

 

Slowly, Thorin was taking in what Tauriel was saying and every word pierced him like a knife.  She saw his face contort and she swiftly drew him into her arms.  “It’s all right,” she said softly.  “It’s all over.  I love you, and only you, and I know you love me.”  He held her tightly and buried his face in her neck.  A torrent of apologies were about to pour from his lips but she placed her finger on his mouth.  “There’s no need,” she said.

 

He wanted to sweep her up into his arms and carry her into their bedroom but he reflected with irritation that a wretched elf by the name of Lostwithiel occupied their bed.  At that moment, the front door opened again and Poppy stood on the threshold.  “Is he here?” she asked.

 

“Yes” smiled Tauriel.  “He’s in our bed.  He’s very upset, you know.  He loves you, we love him - and you, I guess, love him too.  So, there’s no problem, is there?”  And she gave her daughter a hug.  “I’ve given him a sleeping draught, but why don’t you go and get into bed with him for a cuddle?  You can talk things through when he wakes up in the morning.”  It seemed like a good idea and Poppy trotted off to the bedroom with a smile on her face.

 

Thorin grimaced.  “So where do _we_ sleep?” he asked.

 

“Down in the tree house, of course,” replied his wife, “at least for one night.”

 

.o00o.

 

The wind had risen and Thorin was clutching the edge of his mattress.  “I hate tree houses,” he said.  “I can see me being tossed out of bed in the middle of the night if the branches continue to sway like this.”

 

“Well, there’s one way to prevent that,” said Tauriel.

 

“Tell me,” said Thorin.

 

“Well, first of all, you let go of that mattress, slip your arm around my waist and hold on to me instead.  And then I do this……”  And she twisted her fists about his braids.  “And I hold on tight to you as well.”

 

“And then,” she whispered, “we kiss.  And thus entwined together, I promise you that you will definitely _not_ be thrown out of bed.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” murmured Thorin as he swept his wife into his arms.

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: The Elf Lord and the Toddler. Back on Middle-earth, when Rosie was born, what sort of parents did Poppy and Lostwithiel make? I can just imagine the flap that Lostwithiel got himself into. Well, he remembers too and tries to rewrite those early moments on the laptop to make them be a bit better than they actually were. Can you rewrite your past as well as invent your future on this amazing machine?


	34. The Elf Lord and the Toddler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s hear all about Lostwithiel as a father when he looked after little Rosie. Effective? Efficient? Calm? In control? I’m sure you’ve guessed, LOL! And what happens if you write a laptop story about the past?
> 
>  
> 
> And I can’t tell you how much pleasure it gives me to get a review. Your thoughts are always very welcome.

 

 

 

All About Thorin……..And Everyone Else

 

The Elf Lord and the Toddler

 

Pt I

 

Thorin and Tauriel were back at the forge quite early the day after the crisis between Poppy and Lostwithiel had apparently been sorted.  The dwarf had had a pretty bad night – well, a lot of it had been bad, although there had been some good bits too – a number of good bits, he grinned to himself – but his main aim was to get out of the tree house and  back into his own bed as soon as possible.

 

As Thorin and his wife entered by the front door, Lostwithiel staggered out bleary-eyed from the bedroom.  “Is everything all right between you two now?” asked Tauriel with a smile.  “I tried to put Poppy in a forgiving mood when I wrote my part of the story.”

 

“Umm, getting there,” muttered Lostwithiel.  “But I feel as if I’m walking on eggshells.”

 

“Well,” observed Thorin cheerfully, noting the dark circles under his son-in-law’s eyes, and winking at him, “you look as though you’ve been up half the night ‘resolving’ your differences.”

 

“Only talking,” sighed the handsome elf.  “I’m really trying.  She’s just sent me to fetch her tea and toast.  I think that waiting on her hand and foot will be part of the punishment.”

 

Thorin let out a shout of laughter.  “I think you’ll be paying for your mistake for a long time yet.”

 

“What mistake?” yawned Rosie as she came in from the stable.

 

Thorin came to Lostwithiel’s rescue.  “Oh, you know, Rosie, us husbands are always making mistakes as far as our wives are concerned.”  And the elf lord threw him a grateful look.

 

“Grandfather!” exclaimed Rosie, momentarily distracted.  “You’re back!  Is that why you didn’t return to the stable last night?” she asked Tauriel.  And she gave them both a hug.

 

“Yes,” smiled Thorin, returning the hug.  “I came back in the middle of the night and we got involved in a bit of a …….discussion.”  And he threw a quick, apologetic look at Tauriel.

 

Rosie was feeling a lot better after a good night’s sleep and she went off into the kitchen with her father to help with breakfast.  The door opened again and Arion, hand in hand with Mary Sue, came into the room, with Arion staring in such an infatuated way into his beloved’s eyes that he nearly tripped over the threshold.  Thorin rolled up his eyes.  “Love’s young dream,” he muttered and Tauriel kicked him under the table.

 

“Have a good night then?” he asked.

 

“Yes, thank you,” smiled Mary Sue sweetly.  “Very good.”  And she blushed.

 

“Mahal preserve us,” thought her father-in-law-to-be.  “I wonder how long it’ll be before they all build their own homes and move out?”

 

Tauriel wandered into the bedroom and found Poppy sitting up in bed, waiting for her husband to bring her a breakfast tray.  Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand.  “I hear you two are making progress,” she said.

 

“I suppose we are,” replied her daughter, “but I don’t want ‘Thiel to get over-confident.”  Then she gave one of her sly smiles.  “I shall keep him on his toes for a bit and make the most of the situation.”

 

The elf laughed but then squeezed her hand and said seriously: “Don’t push him too far, Poppy.  He’s suffered a lot already.”

 

Poppy tossed her head.  “In what way?” she asked.  “You’re the victim, mother, and I’ve suffered considerably since he told me his secret last night.”

 

Tauriel put an arm about her daughter’s shoulders and leaned back against the bedhead with her.    “But he’s suffered for years and years, Poppy.  Isn’t that punishment enough?”

 

“Perhaps……but that was a very wicked thing he did and it’s very hard to let him off the hook.”

 

“But,” replied Tauriel, “he was going through a very confused phase and he had no mother or father to guide him.  They died years earlier and, if he could have talked to someone, then perhaps things wouldn’t have happened.  It’s very unusual, you know, for an elf to lose one parent, let alone two.”

 

Poppy wrinkled her forehead.  “I hadn’t thought about that, you know,” she mused.  “I’ve still got you, haven’t I?  And I’ll probably always have you.”  Then her face softened: “Poor ‘Thiel,” she said.

 

Lostwithiel came in at that moment, carrying her tea and toast and Tauriel left them to it.  Poppy picked up a slice of toast and nibbled an edge thoughtfully.  Then she replaced the toast on the plate and handed the tray back to her husband.  “Is there something wrong with it?” asked the elf worriedly.  “Would you like something else?”

 

“Yes, Thiel,” she said, “I would like something else.  But that involves you taking this rather heavy tray from me, placing it on that chest and getting back into bed.”

 

Lostwithiel looked at her blankly for a moment, then he grinned, moved the tray and threw back the coverlet on the bed.

 

“You’re a bit slow sometimes,” said his wife, as she took him in her arms.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Two hours later and everyone was up, breakfasted, washed and dressed, and sitting around the dining table.  The laptop sat staring at them and they all stared at the laptop.

 

“So, who’s going to write the next story?” asked Thorin.

 

“Me,” said Lostwithiel.  “I haven’t even touched the thing yet.”

 

Thorin glared at him.  “I’m not quite sure I can trust you,” he said.  “What’s this story going to be about, then?”

 

“Well,” said the elf, leaning back in his chair with his eyes half closed and a dreamy smile on his face, “I thought I’d write a lovely romance.”

 

“Oh, goody,” said his daughter, clapping her hands together.  “Will it be about me?”

 

“No, sorry, chicken,” replied Lostwithiel.  “It will be a tragic story of love across the divide.”

 

“Divide!” snorted Thorin.  “What divide?”

 

“The divide that exists between elf and dwarf.”

 

“No!” snapped Thorin.  “You will NOT write a story about me and Tauriel.”

 

“Of course not,” said Lostwithiel, looking indignant.  “This will be about the forbidden love that develops unexpectedly between a handsome, blond-haired elf lord and a grumpy dwarf.”

 

“Legolas and Gimli!” roared Arion.  “I thought they seemed pretty friendly on that ship from the Grey Havens!”

 

“Try again,” grinned Lostwithiel.  “This story will follow the traditional course: dwarf meets elf – dwarf hates elf and elf hates dwarf – then, after many misunderstandings and a stolen kiss, they realise they are in love with each other.”

 

“No,” said Thorin firmly.

 

“It will be so romantic……”

 

“No, don’t you dare!” Thorin shouted more loudly.

 

“And their love will be so powerful, defying all conventions of society, that……”

 

“No-o-o-!!”

 

“……they abandon everyone and everything and……”

 

“I’ll kill you, Lostwithiel!”

 

“……and live, cast out, but wonderfully in love until the end of time.”

 

The whole family was sighing romantically by then.  “That’s just so wonderful,” said Rosie as Lostwithiel opened the laptop.  But Thorin stretched swiftly across the table and seized the elf by the collar, snapping down the lid on his fingers.

 

“Don’t you dare touch that keyboard!” he roared.

 

“Ow!” said Lostwithiel, sucking his injured digits.

 

Everyone looked taken aback at Thorin’s behaviour.  Thorin glared into Lostwithiel’s eyes and snarled: “One accidental kiss doesn’t make for a searing romance.”

 

The elf stared back at him.  “Doesn’t it?” he asked, looking quite crestfallen.  “Ah, the cruel rejection of it all!”

 

And then he burst out laughing.

 

“I really got you going there, didn’t I?” he chuckled.  And Thorin sat back on his chair, glowering and looking very unamused.

 

“NOT funny,” he said.  “That story would have been just like you.”  And he went into a sulk.

 

The rest of them looked from one to the other – and then the penny dropped.  The laughter didn’t subside for at least five minutes and Thorin’s scowl only deepened.

 

“Oh, come on, my love,” grinned Tauriel, kissing him on the cheek.  “You’ve got to admit that we all had a jolly good laugh.”

 

“At my expense,” growled the dwarf.  But, after a bit of huffing, Thorin finally looked up and asked: “So what WILL your story be about, then?”

 

Lostwithiel smiled broadly.  “Well, it’s going to be a flash-back to something that has already happened and it does include you, Rosie.”

 

Rosie giggled.  “I’m not sure that I trust you either, father……But, I suppose that, if it’s already happened, it can’t be too bad.  Just be careful what sort of slant you give to things.  Nothing silly or naughty.”

 

“As if I’d be mean about my own daughter,” said Lostwithiel, the picture of innocence.  And then he opened the laptop and began.

 

.o00o.

 

The Elf Lord and the Toddler

 

“Right,” said Poppy.  “I’ve left a list of things to do on the table.”  And she looked down severely at her husband who was sitting on the floor, facing little Rosie.  The child was just over a year old and this was the first time that her mother had left her completely in the care of the elf lord.

 

Poppy pulled on her gloves and slung the hem of her riding habit over her arm.  She was going down to her father’s old forge at the crossroads of Ered Luin to look after her sister and her sister’s two children because Rose was unwell and Aunt Dis couldn’t cope.  Nothing else would have persuaded her to leave Rosie in the sole care of her father. 

 

Thorin’s daughter never imagined that she would put someone else before herself but, the minute that Rosie was born, the baby became the centre of her world: now, it was Rosie first, herself second and ‘Thiel last.  The elf didn’t mind.  He knew what his wife was like and she always seemed to have plenty of love left over for him once she had taken herself and their child into consideration.  And, anyway, he put Rosie first too…….not that he would ever let Poppy know that: he didn’t fully understand the workings of his wife’s mind and he wasn’t taking any chances.

 

“The list will tell you everything you need to do over the course of the day – and the night – and there are suggestions for what to do in tricky situations.”

 

“Yes, dear,” said Lostwithiel. 

 

He didn’t know whether to be excited or scared to have Rosie all to himself.  After the baby had been born, he had expected to become a drudge, with Poppy lying in bed half the day, claiming to be exhausted, whilst he ran himself ragged looking after both her and the baby and staying up half the night to help with the feeds. 

 

But, it was Poppy who ran herself ragged.  She immediately became possessive and didn’t trust the baby with anyone else, in particular the elf lord, it seemed.  The proud new mother would hardly let the child out of her arms, was the one to feed and change her and dress her and the one who took on her sole care at night.  “I’ll go!” she would say, the minute the baby started crying.  And she would leap out of bed and tell her husband to go back to sleep.  “I’ll call you if I need you,” she said.   But she never did.

 

At first, Lostwithiel didn’t mind.  After all, it seemed to give his wife so much pleasure to nurse the baby and who wouldn’t want a good night’s sleep?  But slowly he began to feel excluded and, when he did help, he felt awkward and clumsy, which meant that Poppy tutted at his efforts and he just became even clumsier.  Over the past year or so, he had hardly held his daughter, let alone changed or fed her.  And now he was going to be all on his own. 

 

“Just don’t drop her!” were Poppy’s last words as she marched out the door.

 

The pretty child looked over her shoulder as she heard the door bang; then she looked back at her father; and then she realised that the two of them were alone.  She stared uncertainly at him for a moment and then her face crumpled and she burst into tears: “Mum-meee!” she cried.

 

Lostwithiel began to panic.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

The elf lord tried waving a rattle and various other toys under Rosie’s nose, but this didn’t work.  “Daddy’s here!  Daddy’s here!” he reassured her frantically.  But her face grew redder and her sobs louder.  He leaped to his feet and picked her up, jiggling her on his arm and walking backwards and forwards across the room.  She would momentarily subside, burying her head in his shoulder and almost falling asleep with exhaustion.  But, then she would jerk awake, raise her head to stare at his face for a moment and, when she discovered that he still wasn’t her mother, would start the dreadful screaming again.

 

With his daughter perched on his hip, Lostwithiel picked up the list of instructions and scanned it, desperately looking for advice on how to stop a toddler from crying.  But nothing was immediately apparent.  His eye drifted down to “Midday lunch”.  Well, it was nearly midday – well, 11 o’clock – so perhaps he could bring that forward a bit.  Everyone knew that food was comforting.  The added bonus was that she became tired after a meal and he could put her to sleep in her cot for a bit.

 

He hurried with Rosie into the kitchen and found the food that Poppy had left for him to warm through and a water bath already simmering gently on top of the stove.  If only Agnes, the housekeeper, were here to help out.  But Agnes, by a piece of bad timing, was away in the Grey Havens for the week, visiting some of her relatives.  He carefully placed the bowl of food in the water bath and then took Rosie to the window in an attempt to amuse her whilst her lunch was heating.

 

She was momentarily distracted by the leaves on a nearby tree fluttering in the breeze.

 

“Ooo, look, Rosie!  Look at the little bird sitting in the tree!”  The child stared at the bird for a minute until it flew away and, of course, its loss only upset her again.

 

“Ooo, look at the big white cloud in the sky!  It looks like a heffalump!  Do you see the heffalump, Rosie?”

 

Rosie stared intently at the cloud, but, no, she couldn’t see any heffalump.  And, when she couldn’t find it, then she cried in disappointment.

 

“No heffalump!” she wailed.

 

The elf tried the dining room next where a large harp was standing in the corner.  He ran a hand gently over the strings and her attention was immediately caught by the beautiful sound.  For the next five minutes, she was absorbed by the instrument and her father let her run her fingers across the strings too.  But her efforts were a lot more jangly and she looked up expectantly at her father.  “Daddy do,” she demanded.  And she allowed the elf to put her down on the floor whilst he plucked at the strings and sang her a song.

 

When he had finished, she clapped her hands in glee and Lostwithiel felt a tremendous sense of satisfaction that his daughter was such an appreciative admirer of his skills.  But he could see her getting restless and so they returned to the kitchen where he was relieved to find her lunch ready.

 

He placed her in her special baby chair and, picking up the bowl and a spoon, first tested it to make sure it wasn’t too hot – he wasn’t THAT stupid.  Then he proffered it to her.  Unfortunately, Poppy wasn’t yet very hungry after a rather substantial breakfast.  When she just turned her head away, Lostwithiel knew he would have to try something that would tempt her.  He would play “the horse goes into the stable” game which he had seen Rose use when her children refused their food.

 

“Here comes the horse,” he sang.  And Rosie turned her head back towards the spoon.  “Trot-trot, trot-trot, trot-trot.”  She waited expectantly.  “A-a-a-nd OPEN the stable door!” he exclaimed and she automatically opened her mouth.  “And IN goes the horse!”  Lostwithiel shoved the spoon into her mouth and heaved a sigh of relief when she swallowed it and didn’t spit it out.

 

Her delight in the game meant that they got through nearly the entire bowl before she started to refuse the food again.    He picked her up and began nursing her, first offering her a drink from her special baby mug and then rocking her gently and singing her a lullaby.  With a huge sigh of relief, he saw that her eyes quickly closed and he quietly walked to the nursery next door and placed her in the cot which she used during the day.

 

The triumphant father then crept from the room and went back to the kitchen to make himself a hot drink as a reward for his pains.  But as he relaxed in a chair and brought the cup to his lips, to his horror, the screaming started all over again.  But….but….she wasn’t supposed to wake up for at least two hours.  When Poppy fed her and put her down, she went out like a light!

 

Slapping his mug down, he ran to the nursery, only to find that Rosie had been sick.  All the food that she just hadn’t wanted had been vomited over the sheets and coverlet.  Lostwithiel grabbed her up, put her over his shoulder and patted her back……and a second lot pumped up all over his shirt.

 

The next 10 minutes were chaotic.  He stripped off his shirt, stripped the cot, stripped Rosie and changed her nappy while he was at it – another revolting chore.  He decided that women’s noses must work differently and that this made them more suitable for carrying out such domestic tasks.  Then, after redressing Rosie in clothes that were kept in the nursery, he placed all the soiled linen in a bowl to soak, then wearily carried her up the stairs where he placed her on the bed and put on a clean shirt.

 

She glowered at him from her position on the bed and Lostwithiel knew that she was about to start wailing again.  The instruction sheet had also listed “Playtime with Beren” and this seemed like a good idea.  He would take her up to the family quarters at the outpost and there they would visit Challis and her young son, Beren.  Surely Challis would help him or at least keep him company whilst he struggled through the day?

 

.o00o.

 

Challis was startled when she answered the knock at her door to find a dishevelled Lostwithiel on her doorstep clutching a grumpy-looking Rosie.

 

“Rose is ill,” explained the elf lord, “and Poppy has gone off to help for a day or so.  She suggested,” and he looked hopeful, “that I should bring Rosie up to play with Beren.”

 

The pretty elf grinned.  “Having a hard time, ‘Thiel?” she asked.  He was now the captain of the outpost and controlled her husband and the other elves with a firm hand.  But, at the moment, he seemed to be having trouble controlling his daughter.

 

“Ummm,” said Lostwithiel, and he shuffled his feet.  Then he gave a wry answering grin and said, “How did you guess?”

 

“Oh, the food in the hair, the dribble on your shirt, the faint smell of baby sick?”  And she laughed and opened the door wide.  The elf hurried gratefully inside.

 

Beren was three, a strapping little boy, and he looked up with interest as Rosie was brought into the room and was placed on the floor with him and his toys.  For a short time, the little girl was absorbed by the new objects scattered around her and the elf lord sighed with relief as he had the time to sit back, relax a little and drink the cup of tea that Challis brought him.

 

He and Challis were old comrades: they had been through a lot together, trying to protect the borders of Ered Luin, and now they chatted in an easy and amiable way.  So far, the only elves amongst the dozen who manned the outpost to get married and have a child were Challis and Lithin and they now occupied the spacious married quarters that had been built adjacent to the stables of the old farmhouse.  Challis enjoyed it there.  She never felt lonely with all her old friends at hand to visit her in their spare time and help out if necessary.  Beren loved it too and liked being fussed over and made the centre of attention.  Poppy and Rosie also enjoyed similar attention, although Poppy’s manor house was built slightly further away and she thought that the captain’s lady should remain slightly more aloof than Challis.  However, it was very difficult to remain aloof, she discovered, with a group who had known her since birth.

 

The two elves watched their children with amusement as they played together.  Beren had begun to learn certain social skills and he graciously allowed Rosie to play with all his toys.  But, finally, she snatched one desirable object out of his hands and wouldn’t give it back.  After a number of attempts to distract her so that the toy could be returned to Beren who was beginning to look upset, Lostwithiel finally took it from her and said firmly: “Beren’s!”  Immediately she began to scream and Lostwithiel sent a harassed look to Challis who just smiled calmly and suggested that they take them both outside to play on the front lawn.

 

In front of the building was a lovely stretch of grass that offered a sweeping view of the surrounding countryside.  Challis often brought  Beren to play in this spot and they would wave to any of the elven troop who passed by on their way to the stables.  To this verdant lawn they now removed themselves and Rosie soon forgot her tears amidst the activity.   Lithin and Borondin came past, returning from a patrol, and led their horses to the stables. 

 

“A-a-a-n-d OPEN the stable door,” sang Rosie, remembering the food game from the morning.  “And IN goes the horse!”

 

Lithin’s horse, a big, black creature was being led because it had damaged a fetlock.  The children were fascinated by the horses but Lithin warned them all: “Don’t come near him – he’s in pain and very bad-tempered.  I’m going to the kitchen to prepare a poultice.”  And after the two elves had given their horses a quick rub-down, they disappeared off into the farmhouse.

 

The children were now feeling sleepy in the sun and were playing quietly.  This is easy, thought Lostwithiel.  But Challis needed to prepare a meal for later that evening and asked him if he could look after both children for a short time.  “No problem,” said Lostwithiel, full of new confidence.   Beren and Rosie played happily for a few minutes after Challis had disappeared inside and then Rosie threw a toy off the grass and onto the gravel.  With an indignant exclamation, Beren got up and toddled after it, but, as he reached the gravel path, he tripped and fell, letting out a yell of pain.

 

With a muttered expletive and a guilty feeling that he had let Challis down, Lostwithiel leaped to his feet and ran to help the crying boy.  When he lifted Beren from the ground, he saw that he had cut his knee and he fumbled for a handkerchief and began dabbing at the blood whilst making soothing noises.  In the end, Beren’s crying changed to erratic gulps and sniffs.  Better take them both in, thought the elf, and let Challis see to it.  But, when he turned, there was no sign of Rosie – anywhere.

 

Absolutely terrified, he yelled for Challis, ran for her front door and thrust the bemused Beren into his mother’s arms as she appeared there.  “Rosie’s gone!” he gasped.

 

He ran across the lawn with arms and legs wildly flailing.  “Rosie!” he yelled.  At that moment, he heard a neighing from the stable and then, to his horror, saw that the door was ajar.  It was at this point that he knew for a certainty where Rosie had gone.  He flung the stable door open – and then stopped in his tracks.  Lithin’s horse, tied up in one of the horse boxes with its rump towards him, was fidgeting and trying to rear.  Its fetlock hurt and it knew there was something down there, between its legs.  It was Rosie, of course, trapped beneath the horse and looking very frightened.  Lostwithiel plunged forward, bent down and grabbed her.  But the horse, sensing a new danger at its rear, rolled its eyes and lashed out with a hoof.  As the elf pulled his daughter to safety, the hoof clipped his forehead and, stunned, he reeled away, falling backwards in the straw with Rosie clasped in his arms.

 

The blood trickled down into his left eye but he managed to crawl away to safety, just as Lithin, with Challis and Beren peering anxiously over his shoulder, rushed to his aid.  Back in the family quarters, Challis repaired the damage whilst Lithin looked after the children.  Lostwithiel was distraught.  “She could have been killed and it would have been all my fault,” he cried.

 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Challis soothingly.  “You need eyes in the back of your head when you’re a parent.  And no harm has been done.”

 

“Except to my head,” said the elf, pulling a face.

 

It was late afternoon by then.  “I think the best thing,” said Challis, “is if I make Rosie some hot milk and you a sandwich.  And then you can carry her down the hill on your shoulder to bring up any wind.  Too much food might make her sick again.  Lithin will come with you and move her upstairs cot from her bedroom to yours where you can reach her easily if she wakes in the night.  Then both of you should try to get a good night’s sleep.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Rosie was practically asleep on her father’s shoulder as they reached the manor.  Lithin did the furniture removals and wished his captain good luck before he left.  Then Lostwithiel changed his daughter into her nightgown and put her down in her cot where she immediately fell into a deep and exhausted slumber.  After that, he got ready for bed himself and, with a throbbing head, crawled between the sheets.  They both slept heavily for hours but, just before dawn, she began to stir.  Bleary-eyed, the elf picked her up and brought her into bed with him and they both fell fast asleep again.

 

It was mid-morning and they were still dead to the world when Poppy came home.  Rose had made a good recovery the previous evening and so Poppy, keen to see both her husband and her child, had set out for her manor at the crack of dawn.  The house was unexpectedly quiet when she opened the front door.  She felt suddenly anxious.  Surely they’re up by now, she thought?   She mounted the stairs to their bedroom and was met by the sight of her husband sprawled across the coverlet whilst their daughter snored gently on his chest.  They both looked so sweet together that she stood in the doorway and watched them for a while until Lostwithiel finally stirred and opened his eyes.

 

“I’m glad you’re back,” he smiled.

 

“I’m glad I’m back too,” said Poppy, returning his smile.

 

.o00o.

 

_(Lostwithiel was too lost in thought, remembering the past, and didn’t notice that Thorin had placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Did that really happen?” asked the dwarf.  It was late evening and everyone else had gone to bed, leaving the elf to his typing._

_“Yes,” said Lostwithiel, lifting a lock of golden hair to reveal a silvery scar almost hidden under the hair-line.  “At the time, I told Poppy that I had cut my head, bending down to retrieve Rosie from under the kitchen table.  Now she’ll know differently and I’ll probably be in trouble again.”_

_“Sounds like a bad day,” said Thorin quietly._

_“It was even worse than I’ve described.  I hoped that, by moderating the story, I could wipe out some of the memories.  But, it hasn’t worked and it looks like you can’t change the past.  I was a hopeless father, you know,” was the elf’s response._

_Thorin pulled a face.  “Then we all are.  That story brings back memories of similar awful days when I was left in charge.”_

_“Thought you were supposed to be the perfect father,” laughed the elf lord._

_“Well, I was, of course – but only as perfect as it’s possible to be when children are involved.  You sound very like me in that respect.”  And the one-time King under the Mountain patted his friend in a kindly fashion on the shoulder and went off to the bedroom where his wife lay waiting for him.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poppy has a husband. Arion has found his Mary Sue. So, how about Rosie? Time for Thorin to play the matchmaker. Find out how he goes about things in Thorin and his Next Move.


	35. Thorin and his Next Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another story, this time about Rosie but also about a problem that Thorin has with living in the Undying Lands. That dwarf is such a malcontent!
> 
>  
> 
> My husband was a bit bothered that he couldn’t quite remember who certain minor characters, like Lithin and Challis, were from past chapters. I thought I had given enough reminders but he likes to know PRECISELY how everyone has so far fitted into the story and he felt quite distracted. Hope that a failure to recollect doesn’t affect my readers here. Just in case: Lithin and Challis were two of Tauriel’s soldiers at the outpost in Thorin Sorts Things Out who married each other and finally had a child called Beren a couple of years before Poppy had Rosie. Evanuil, Seleth and Favreen were three of the young elves who pestered Thorin when he first arrived in the Undying Lands in Thorin Amongst the Elves but who eventually became his friends and “followers”. Hope you enjoy this.

 

All About Thorin…….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and his Next Move

 

Pt I

 

Thorin went to bed in a thoughtful mood.  His brow was furrowed and he lay on his back, staring into the darkness.  Feeling only a slight concern, Tauriel slipped an arm around her husband’s waist.

 

“A silver penny for them,” she whispered.

 

“Umm,” he replied, rather vacantly.

 

“Sounds as though you need a bit of cheering up,” she continued, nibbling the lobe of his ear.

 

“Umm,” he repeated.

 

After a few moments when there was no further response from him, she tugged her husband firmly and rolled him towards her.  Gently, she began brushing her lips against his and waited for the usual passionate response.  But, he released an almost weary sigh before climbing on top of her.  Tauriel blinked.  It almost felt as though he were doing his duty.  Five minutes later, just as she was beginning to forget the sigh and had started to enjoy herself, Thorin suddenly rolled away and sat up in bed.

 

“Is this it, then?” he asked.

 

The abrupt transition from love-making to question-out-of-the-blue threw the elf completely and all she could think to say was, “What?!”

 

“Is this it?” he repeated with a lugubrious sigh.  “No orcs to fight, no dragons to slay, no borders to defend, no great evil to overcome?  No PURPOSE to my life?”

 

And then Tauriel thought she understood: there was no action for her man of action.  He had waited and waited for that last ship to arrive from the Grey Havens with his family on board and now that it had come, the final objective had been achieved…..and it was not enough.

 

“But,” said Tauriel, challenging this thought, “aren’t you content that we are here in a safe, beautiful environment, with your family happily living around you?  Isn’t it enough? ........ Am I not enough?”

 

The silence opened up between them and it made the elf anxious and edgy.

 

“I know I shouldn’t think,” the dwarf said hesitantly……

 

“No, you shouldn’t!” snapped his wife.  “It never gets you anywhere and only leads to trouble!”  And, with that, she got out of bed, flung a robe around her and stomped from the room.

 

Thorin looked up in surprise.  He had expected some comfort and understanding from her.  Tauriel wasn’t usually into stomping – that was his territory.  And he hastily scrambled into his own robe and followed her from the room.

 

He found her staring blankly out of a window at the glittering stars.  Tears were sliding down her cheeks.  Feeling dreadful for causing her pain, Thorin slid his arms around her and pulled her back against his powerful chest, resting his chin on her shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

 

“Saying ‘sorry’ doesn’t change anything,” she gulped.   “You’re dissatisfied with your life here.  It’s a total rejection of all that I’ve given you – immortality, the children, me.  For goodness’ sake, what more do you want,Thorin!?  Would you prefer to be dead, like Rose?” 

 

Ooof!  That was a below the belt wallop, thought Thorin, and he sucked in his breath.  But, Tauriel never cried and Thorin felt like a villain for provoking her into making such a remark.

 

“Well,” he mumbled, “you know that immortality per se was never important to me.  If I hadn’t wanted more life with you then I would have rejected my passage on that ship here when I was mortally wounded.”

 

“Yes, it’s always about what you want, isn’t it?” sniffed Tauriel, wiping her nose on her sleeve.  “Isn’t it about time you thought about what I want for a change?”

 

Thorin turned her towards him and held her tightly, his strong arms enfolding her protectively.

 

“You know I’d do anything for you, Tauriel, and for our children, but I can’t change the way I’m feeling.  Middle-earth was my home – where I belonged.  I can’t just exist here – however delightful that existence is: I must find a purpose or my life has no meaning.”  And he tenderly kissed the top of her head.  Any minute now and he would be crying too.  And a crying dwarf is not a pretty sight.

 

“Then we must find you a purpose,” she said, looking up at him and gazing into his beautiful blue eyes which now looked sad and deeply troubled.  “We have the perfect tool in the laptop.  We can make of our lives whatever we wish.”

 

“Can we conjure up an orc raiding party, then,” he asked wryly, “so that I can save my family and be the hero of the hour?”

 

“Sorry,” she smiled back, “but orcs just don’t exist in the Undying Lands.  And would you really want to introduce evil into such a perfect place?”

 

“You’re no fun,” he whispered, kissing her throat.  “So, what are you suggesting?”

 

She wrinkled her brow thoughtfully for a moment.

 

“And if you can’t think of any suggestions,” he continued huskily, “perhaps I can come up with a few.”  Then he bent and picked her up in his arms.

 

“I’m afraid, Thorin,” she laughed, “that it’s your turn to wait.  You can carry me as far as the laptop,” she said and she nodded to the table.

 

“Spoil sport!” he grumbled but he knew that they had to get this sorted out and he carried her to a dining room chair.  She pulled the laptop towards her and opened it.  And then she turned to him and took his hand in both of hers.

 

“You can always find a purpose in life, “she said.  “And it doesn’t have to be as dramatic as fighting orcs.  There are always things to be sorted out within our own family.  As soon as one difficult problem is dealt with then another one rears its head.”

 

He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them.  “But you’re the one who usually sorts out the family problems, Tauriel.”

 

“What are you saying, Thorin?” she asked with a laugh.  “That you’ll leave little family problems to be sorted out by women?  And are you saying something about women, I wonder?”

 

He cupped her cheek in his large hand.  “Now, stop being naughty, Tauriel,” he rumbled.  “You know I didn’t mean that.  You’re just cleverer than I am, that’s all.”  And seeing her eyes dance, he couldn’t resist kissing her.

 

The kiss was long and lingering but, when she finally drew away, she said: “Well, if it takes intelligence to sort out family problems, shouldn’t you see them as a challenge?  And shouldn’t your purpose be to make your family as happy as possible?”

 

Thorin threw up his hands.  “All right, you win,” he grinned.  “But, as far as I know, we haven’t got any problems at the moment – which is why I’ve had too much time to think.”

 

“Well, how about Rosie?” she asked.  “I think she yearns for a partner, especially after Arion came home with Mary Sue.  Sorting out your granddaughter’s love-life could be a tremendous challenge.  What do you think?”

 

“Yes, and writing the story could take all night,” he complained.  “And, at the moment, I’m thinking of better things we could be doing.”

 

“So, what if it does take all night?” returned the elf.  “You can always compensate for things after finishing this story by writing another one about how we come to spend a whole week in bed.  All you’ve got to do is think of a reason for it.”

 

“Hmm,” said Thorin with a lustful twinkle in his eye.  “I’ll think about it whilst I’m typing.  Pass me that laptop.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Thorin and his Next Move

 

“Ow!” yelped Beren, as his mother brushed his hair vigorously.  “I’m not a child any more – I can do that.”  And he snatched the brush from her hand.

 

“Well,” said Challis, “I’m just making sure that you look respectable for your visit up to the forge.”  And she tugged his jerkin straight and brushed an invisible piece of fluff from his shoulder.

 

“But, it’s only Rosie,” he muttered, “and she doesn’t expect me to look all shiny and new!”

 

“But, it’s also Thorin and Tauriel,” pursued his mother, “and they’re meeting you for the first time.  I want you to make a good impression.”

 

Beren shook off her smoothing, patting fingers.  “They’re only her grandparents,” he muttered.  “A couple of old fuddy-duddies, I should imagine – and one of them’s a dwarf.  Why is it so important to impress them?”

 

Challis grinned.  “You’ll know when you see them,” she said.  “Now, be off with you or you’ll be late.”  And she pushed him out the door.

 

Beren looked sulky as he climbed down from the platform of the tree house, one of those allotted to the new arrivals close to the harbour after they had disembarked from the last ship from the Grey Havens.  All his life, he had heard nothing but reminiscences about the Oakenshields – Thorin this and Tauriel that.  Anyone would think that they were the greatest heroes of Middle-earth.  And yet they hadn’t even fought in the War of the Ring and had left before he was born.  He could understand Rosie’s interest in meeting her grandparents at long last but why the others went on and on about these two he would never know.

 

Of course, he was looking forward to meeting up with Rosie again.  They hadn’t seen each other since the ship had docked and he missed her.  They had grown up together at the outpost, had become part of the elven troop there once they were old enough and had fought side by side against increasing orc attacks as the Darkness fell.  She was his best friend, although he had also been close to her uncle Arion, another of the soldiers at the outpost.  He was looking forward to seeing both of them again.

 

He smiled to himself as he rode his horse up the hillside towards the forge.  They had got into so much mischief when they were young, along with Aunt Rose’s young children.  “No wonder you were named after me,” Rosie’s aunty had said to her as she and Arion had extricated them all from yet another load of trouble.  “Those were the days,” he grinned to himself.   But they were long gone: Rose was dead and her husband and children had moved to Minas Tirith after the War.  However, Rosie remained and she was an important part of his life.

 

Rosie saw him coming and, as he dismounted, hurtled out of the house to greet him.  Beren picked her up, whirled her around and then started to tickle her.  She folded up with laughter and then fell to the ground, shrieking, “Stop it!  Stop it!”  They rolled on the grass together, Rosie trying to escape and Beren crawling after her, until a long shadow fell over them.  Rosie looked up and gasped, “Grandfather!” leaping to her feet and hastily brushing down her clothes.  He had just come from his forge after hearing the commotion.

 

Beren got to his feet more slowly.  So, this was the famous Thorin Oakenshield?  And he had to admit that he was quite taken aback.  The dwarf was dirty from his work in the forge but, the young elf thought, he had the sort of presence that stopped you in your tracks.  His long, black hair fell about his shoulders in a tousled mass, just like Arion’s; his penetrating, blue eyes seemed to look deep down into his own; his posture was assured and kingly; and he was extraordinarily good-looking.  But, his arms……!  Goodness, thought Beren!  No wonder he was renowned for his fighting with sword and axe.  And he suddenly recognised that he was standing in the presence of a great warrior.

 

He bowed his head to Thorin in acknowledgement: “Beren, son of Lithin,” he said.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, sir.”  And he held out a hand.

 

Thorin looked him up and down for a moment and raised an eyebrow.  Suddenly, Beren wished he had made a more sedate entrance.  Then the dwarf grinned and clasped him by the forearm.  “I would never have guessed,” he laughed.  “What are these doing on an elf?”  And he squeezed one of Beren’s biceps.

 

The elf flushed.  He was broader than the average elf and his arms were not as lithe; in fact, the bulge of his muscles there made him look more like a man, even with his long, blond hair.  “I trained with sword and axe from a very young age,” he offered in way of explanation.  “Our captain, Lostwithiel, was very keen for us to learn the dwarven style of fighting and, since I started on weight-lifting as a child so that I could handle these weapons easily, I suppose that I developed a non-standard elven musculature.”

 

Thorin nodded in approval and turned to his granddaughter.  “And did you learn to use an axe, too?” he asked with a grin, not expecting the answer he got.

 

“Of course I did,” said Rosie.  “Aunty Rose forged a slightly smaller one for me…..But just you look!”  And she flexed her arm so that her biceps bulged in a totally unladylike way.

 

Thorin let out a roar of laughter.  “Well!” he exclaimed.  “I am truly flattered that my training at the outpost has lived on down the generations!”  And he gave her a fond hug.

 

Just then Tauriel came out to join them.  “You must be Beren,” she smiled.  “I did so enjoy working with your parents all that time ago.”

 

Beren turned towards her and felt just as floored by Tauriel as he had been by Thorin.  This grandmother was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen!  Rosie saw his jaw drop and a look of adoration come into his eyes and, for some reason, felt a little annoyed.  “Don’t gawp!” she snapped, digging him in the ribs.  “Or my grandfather will become jealous and bop you on the nose.”

 

Thorin grinned.  “Well, yes,” he laughed.  “She really is worth gawping at.  But, I’m afraid she’s already taken.”  And he slipped an arm possessively around Tauriel’s waist.

 

Tauriel laughed too.  “And I appreciate any compliment I can get these days, Beren, especially since I’m such an old lady.”

 

Beren blushed because Tauriel had guessed at what his thoughts must have been before he had met her.  But Thorin bowed towards the front door and he was ushered into the house amidst their kindly laughter.

 

.o00o.

 

                                                                                                Pt III                                                                                               

 

Arion was waiting for him inside and there was much back-slapping.  He was introduced to Mary Sue and he was intrigued to meet this pretty, sweet girl from another world.  Then Lostwithiel and Poppy turned up from the tree house and there was even more good-natured bantering.

 

“Tauriel’s made up a picnic,” said Thorin, “and we’ve invited some of the young people from the elven settlement just below us to join you.  I’m sure you’ll all have fun together.”

 

“Ah, yes,” said Lostwithiel.  “Your little friends, Thorin.  I’ve heard all about them.”

 

“Not so little any more,” retorted the dwarf.  “They’ve matured nicely and are, in fact, older than Beren and Rosie…….Not that you’d know that sometimes from their behaviour.”

 

Soon, Evanuil, Seleth and the elf-girl, Favreen, were knocking at the door and they shyly entered.   Thorin, looking at Rosie, Beren and his group of “little friends”, thought they were a striking bunch.  They should all get along very nicely, he mused to himself.  Tauriel handed out packs of food and bottles of wine whilst Thorin directed them to the picnic spot by the lake just over the hill beyond the forge.  “Just don’t ask Seleth to sing,” he advised, “or that might spoil your day.”

 

“And don’t drown yourselves in the lake, either,” added Arion, giving Mary Sue a look as he remembered how he had fished her out of the water.

 

The five of them set off on horseback, chatting together and getting to know each other.

 

“Have a good day,” Thorin shouted after them. 

 

.o00o.

 

Beren found himself riding alongside Favreen.  She was very pretty, of course, but she also had a winning manner and he rather liked the way that she smiled shyly up at him from under her long lashes.  It made a change from Rosie who, like her mother, had always been so confident.  Rosie was the type who looked you straight in the eyes and often seemed to be laughing at you rather than with you.  Favreen, on the other hand, wanted to know all about his time up at the outpost and his battles with the orcs.  He laughed and told her stories about his adventures and she gazed up at him with admiration and awe on her face.  It gave him a nice feeling.

 

They all plodded along carefully: only Beren and Rosie were skilled riders and they were also on the lookout for rabbit holes.  Unfortunately, although they managed to avoid the holes, they didn’t avoid the rabbits.  Suddenly, one leaped out in front of the horses and then scuttled away.  Beren’s horse danced and snorted but he quickly brought it under control.  Favreen’s reared, however, nearly throwing her off: she lost the reins and then her horse bolted with the young elf clutching hold of its mane.

 

“Come on!” yelled Rosie, galloping past Beren.  And then they were both off in hot pursuit.  Favreen  didn’t get far before Rosie overtook her and Beren drew alongside.  Rosie, Poppy’s daughter, leaned precariously from her saddle and grasped the loose reins, steadily dragging the spooked horse to a halt.  As soon as they stopped, Beren leaped to the ground and held out his arms to the terrified Favreen.  Shaking like a leaf, she slid from her saddle and fell upon his comforting breast.  Then she started crying.  Beren did a good job of soothing her, stroking her hair and murmuring in her ear.  A tad too much murmuring, Rosie began to think, and she stepped forward and gently prised the pretty elf firmly – rather too firmly – out of Beren’s arms and put her own arms about her shoulders.

 

“Feeling better?” she asked, in a slightly impatient voice.  “Let me help you back on your horse.”  And she tugged the mount forward.

 

“No, I can’t, I really can’t!” said Favreen in a scared voice.  “He’ll throw me, I just know he will.”

 

What a wet girl, thought Rosie.  “Well, are you going to walk then?” she asked rather curtly.

 

“No, of course not,” smiled Beren.  And he helped her up onto his own horse and then mounted behind her.  “You don’t mind looking after Favreen’s horse?” he said to Rosie.  And, yes, she did but she had no choice but to remount her own horse and lead the other behind her.  Her only consolation was that Evanuil and Seleth were full of admiration for her daring deed, although she did think that some thanks from Favreen wouldn’t have gone amiss.

 

They ambled down the hill towards the lake with Rosie grumpily noticing that Beren seemed to be sitting a bit too snugly behind Favreen.  Then she shook herself.  What was she?  A dog in a manger?    Didn’t she want her best friend to have a bit of fun?  And, by the time they reached their picnic spot, her good humour had been restored again.

 

They had found a lovely glade, close to the water and beneath the trees.  Evanuil and Seleth gathered some wood together, Beren expertly started a camp fire whilst the girls set out the food on a white tablecloth.  Then they all sat down with a glass of wine, their backs resting against the trunks of the trees.  Rosie was pleased when Beren chose to come and sit with her, lying down on the grass and resting his head companionably in her lap. 

 

“Comfortable?” she laughed at him, brushing back his blond hair from his forehead; and Beren grinned up at her, his green eyes flashing like emeralds in the sun. 

 

“Very,” he said, and, for a moment, his lips seemed to curve wickedly.  And she couldn’t stop herself but bent down and kissed him on the nose.

 

“Missed,” he said softly.

 

And suddenly, Favreen was shoving a plate between them.  “Sandwich?” she asked.

 

Beren sat up with a grin and began to devour the picnic food.  Rosie felt annoyed when Favreen joined them, monopolising his attention by asking a whole series of flattering questions.  She decided that she was fed up with the view of the back of Beren’s head and tried to divert everyone’s attention by talking about the lake.  She told them how Arion had saved Mary Sue from the water and how she had been transported there from another world where she had nearly drowned whilst swimming.  “Do you swim?” she asked Favreen.

 

No, she didn’t, but she did enjoy a paddle on a hot day like this.  And, giving Beren a flirtatious glance, she skipped down to the water’s edge, expecting her new interest to join her there.  But Rosie was pleased when he chose to stay put and leaned back against the tree, watching Favreen’s splashing with a smile playing on his lips.

 

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” she asked, probing a little.

 

“Yes,” he said.  Which answer was no use at all.

 

The paddle came to an end and Favreen began to return to the party.  But, suddenly she shrieked and began hopping on one foot.

 

“That girl is so accident prone,” sighed Seleth, rolling his eyes.  But Beren leaped to his feet and did the gentlemanly thing, lifting her up and carrying her back into the shade.  Kneeling by her side, he lifted her foot carefully and examined the sole. 

 

“It’s a large splinter,” he said.  And he raised her foot to his mouth and sucked it out.  Favreen’s eyelashes fluttered and she let out a long sigh whilst Beren lowered her foot back down into his lap and massaged it for a few minutes.

 

“Better?” he asked softly.  “I see I shall have to look after you before you get into more trouble.”  And he gave her a seductive smile.

 

Rosie could have smacked him.   

 

.o00o.

 

A few dark clouds passed over the sun and Seleth thought it best if they packed up and headed home.  Beren placed Favreen before him on his horse once more and off they set.  Rosie glowered as the two of them murmured and giggled together and Evanuil, riding next to her, sighed.  “It looks as though she’s falling for your friend,” he said.  “And, unfortunately, it looks as though he’s falling for her too.”

 

“Why ‘unfortunately’?” she asked.

 

“Well, I’ve known her all my life and I’ve always hoped that, in the end, I would be The One.  But you know how it is when someone starts off as a friend.”  And he sighed again.

 

Yes, Rosie knew.  And she had the sudden realisation that she didn’t want Beren to fall for Favreen.  No, absolutely not.  And she wondered why that was.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

When they got back to the forge, they all went their separate ways, but not before Favreen had held Beren’s hands tightly in her own and had thanked him for his help, all the while gazing most sincerely up into his eyes.  Just before they parted, Beren bent down and kissed her cheek.  That hurt Rosie more than she expected, especially as he didn’t kiss Rosie but just gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.  “See you,” he said.

 

She stood on the porch of the house, watching them all go down the hill until they were out of sight.  And then she felt a desperate urge to talk to someone.  No-one was in the house and so she followed the sound of hammering coming from the forge.

 

Thorin looked up and smiled as his granddaughter entered his domain.  “Have a good time?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said, trying to look cheerful.  “No,” she said, bursting into tears.

 

With a sigh, Thorin wiped his hands on a rag, sat on a bench and patted a knee.  “Your mother, your aunt and your grandmother always found it very comfortable,” he said.  And Rosie sat down and buried her wet face in his shoulder.

 

“It must be about love,” he said, gently stroking her hair.

 

“H-how did you guess?” she blubbed.

 

He offered her the dirty rag and she blew her nose.  “Well, I can’t imagine what else it might be about,” he said.

 

And then she told him all about her belated realisation: that she was in love with Beren and always had been.  What had been the signs, Thorin wanted to know?

 

“Well,” she managed to get out between sniffs, “first he rode with her and not with me – and I didn’t like it.  And then he saved her from her spooked horse – well, I did, but she didn’t thank me – and then she threw herself at him and cried – and then she rode on his horse with him cuddled up behind her – much too friendly, I thought – and then he lay down with his head in my lap – and – and – it felt so right – and then I kissed him…”

 

“You did what?”asked Thorin.

 

“I kissed him – but only on the nose – and he said ‘missed’ and I thought he might kiss me on the lips but Favreen stuck her plate of sandwiches in the way – and then she got a splinter and he sucked her foot – Yuck!”

 

“What!” asked Thorin again.

 

“Well, you know, she got a splinter in her foot and he sucked it out – and they both gave each other such a look!”

 

“Goodness!” exclaimed Thorin.  “Well I never!  The things you young people get up to!  Sucking out a splinter!  Wasn’t her foot dirty?  Double yuck, I say!”  And Rosie just had to giggle.

 

“And then he rode home with her on his horse again - and then he kissed her goodbye – and - and – he didn’t kiss me, just slapped me on the shoulder like a bloke – and - and…….”  At this point Rosie burst into tears again.

 

“And you’ve only just realised that, actually, you’re in love with him and you think you’re about to lose him to Favreen,” said Thorin, patting her back gently.

 

“Yes, yes,” wailed Rosie.  “What on earth shall I do?”

 

Thorin took her into the house and made her a cup of camomile tea.  Then he sent her off to his bed with the instructions that she get some sleep.  “I’ll sort things out, don’t you worry,” he said in such a voice that Rosie believed him and she soon snuggled into the feather pillows and fell fast asleep.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin strolled thoughtfully down the hill towards Beren’s home.  He had made his granddaughter a promise when he wasn’t sure he could fulfil it.  The only thing that gave him confidence was the certainty that Beren must be able to see that he would be happier with Rosie than with Favreen – surely?  But men were strange creatures – and elves were even stranger, he snorted to himself.  Who knew what drew one person to another?  He still hadn’t worked out what his own wife saw in him, so perhaps he was reaching a whole bunch of wrong conclusions.

 

Suddenly, to his surprise, he saw Beren riding back up the hill towards him.  The elf reined in his horse and said, “I’ve done a bad thing, Thorin, and I need to speak with you.”

 

Thorin raised one eyebrow.  “And I want to speak with you, lad,” he said, and they both drew to one side, into the shade of some trees.  Beren dismounted, tied up his horse and pulled a bottle of wine from his pack.  “Leftovers from the picnic,” he said.  “I think we might need it,” and they both made themselves comfortable on a couple of fallen tree trunks.

 

“So, tell me about this bad thing,” said Thorin after they had both had a swig of wine.

 

Beren flushed.  “It’s quite difficult to explain,” he said.

 

“Spit it out, lad,” the dwarf said.  “I’m sure it can’t be half as awful as the stupid things I’ve done in my lifetime.”

 

Reassured, Beren cleared his throat.  “Well you see, I’ve known Rosie all my life.  But, the trouble is, I’ve always been in love with her but she’s never been in love with me.”

 

Thorin roared with laughter.  “Problem solved!” he shouted delightedly.  “She’s just told me that she is, in fact, in love with you.  So, you can both now live happily ever after!  Welcome to the family!”

 

But Beren’s face was contorted between pleasure and despair.  “But, I’ve done this bad thing,” he repeated.

 

“For goodness’ sake,” said Thorin.  “What bad thing?”  

 

Beren paused for a moment and then plunged in.  “Well, I saw my opportunity today to make Rosie jealous – just a bit of a push, you know.  This new girl, Favreen, seemed quite taken with me and so I flirted with her quite openly – in fact, I tried flirting with both of them, just to stir things up.  And I did feel it was working.”

 

“Well, it did,” laughed Thorin, slapping his thigh.  “You clever lad, you.  Talk about going for something that you really want.  Poor Rosie was positively green and it made her realise that she had pretty strong feelings for you.”

 

“But don’t you see,” sighed Beren.  “I used Favreen and now she’s in love with me too.  That’s the bad thing I did – using someone else for my own ends.  This might break her heart – elves only give their love once, you know.”  And he paused and stared steadily at Thorin.

 

“Oh no,” cried Thorin.  “you’re not feeling so guilty about this that you’re thinking of doing something silly, are you?”

 

Beren looked at his hands.  “I am thinking that perhaps I don’t deserve to have Rosie,” he said.

 

“What!  And marry Favreen as a punishment to yourself?  Idiot!  That would only make three people unhappy,” Thorin snapped.  “Now, come on back to the house and wait outside on the bench.  I’ll go off and see Favreen and sort this all out for you.”  Another promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but the young elf willingly unloaded his problems onto the dwarf and they parted company at the elven tree houses.

 

He found Favreen working on the vegetable patch in the garden .  As soon as she saw him, she dashed over.  Thorin was one of her favourite people and she had admired him ever since they had first met all those years ago.

 

“Thorin!  Thorin!” she cried.  “You must help me!  I’ve done an awful thing and I don’t know how to put it right.”

 

“Tell me,” said Thorn with a sigh.

 

“Well, today, I tried to make Evanuil jealous by flirting with Beren and now I’m in a mess and…..”  But before she could get any further, Thorin seized her grimly by the wrist and dragged her to Evanuil’s house.  He pulled the bell-rope at the base of the tree and the elf had soon descended to meet them with a puzzled look on his face.

 

“Evanuil,” he said, “do you love Favreen?”

 

“Er….yes,” he said, looking startled.

 

“And, Favreen,” said Thorin , turning to the girl, “do you love Evanuil?”

 

“Yes,” said Favreen, a grin beginning to spread across her face.

 

“Well, there you go then.  Problem sorted,” he said, thrusting Favreen’s hand into Evanuil’s and stomping away up the hill towards the forge.

 

“But what about Beren?” she called after him. 

 

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he called back over his shoulder.  “Beren’s marrying Rosie.  Perhaps you ought to plan for a double wedding.”

 

When he got back to his house, it was to find Rosie kissing Beren on the doorstep.  “She woke up,” he said.  And they both laughed happily.  “But, is it all sorted with Favreen?”

 

“Yes, she’s marrying Evanuil,” said Thorin, “so you can both cheer up.  And now,” he added, “I am going to make myself a nice cup of tea.  Thank me later.”  And he marched into the house.

 

“Kids!  Who’d have ‘em?” he muttered to himself, as he closed the kitchen door behind him.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, Thorin, you old romantic!” laughed Tauriel, bending over her husband’s shoulder and kissing him on the cheek.  “I’m sure that Rosie will be more than pleased with the way you’ve fixed her love-life.”_

_“Yes,” smiled Thorin.  “I really like that Beren.  He’ll fit in well in this family._

_“And that wouldn’t be anything to do with the hero-worship of you that you’ve written into his character, by any chance?” she asked._

_“Well, I did play fair by making him think you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Made me a bit jealous, to tell the truth,” he added, “but he wasn’t lying, of course.”  Thorin stood up and took her in his arms._

_“Now is it permitted for me to carry my wife to our bedroom so that we can spend hours making mad, passionate love?” he asked with a quirky grin._

_“What?  Only for a few hours?  I thought that you were going to write a story giving us a reason to spend a whole week in bed.”  And she teasingly pulled one of his plaits._

_“Still working on that,” he whispered huskily as he swept her away to his bed.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: In Bed with Thorin and Tauriel. Thorin and Tauriel want to spend a whole week in bed with each other without any annoying family interruptions. Well, they lay their plans, but will they succeed, LOL, or will their children and Gandalf and Bilbo AND Thranduil make nuisances of themselves?


	36. In Bed with Thorin and Tauriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another lap-top story, based on a passing remark that Thorin made in the last episode where he had the idea of him and Tauriel spending a week in bed together. But how do you tell your children that you fancy having sex for a week without any interruptions from the family? It was Thorin who intended to write this story - but who will actually get hold of the magic laptop and, perhaps, spoil his plans?

  
All About Thorin…….And Everyone Else

 

In Bed with Thorin and Tauriel

 

Pt I

 

Thorin and Tauriel opened their eyes wearily to meet the new day.  It had become the custom for the entire family to meet up for breakfast at the forge and the elf and dwarf had found themselves lumbered with the task of rising early and preparing food for everyone.

 

“I never knew how lucky I was,” said Thorin as he crawled out of bed.  “All those years when we only had ourselves to worry about and the only thing that we had to get up for was the pressing desire to see if any new ship had arrived from the Grey Havens.  I just never made the most of it.”  And he nuzzled Tauriel’s neck and pecked her on the cheek.

 

Tauriel stretched tiredly and began to get dressed.  “Well, in the end,” she said, “they’ll build their own houses and we won’t be responsible for them any more.  But don’t hold your breath.  I get the feeling that they’re feeling quite comfortable with the current set-up.”  And she thought how Arion and Mary Sue were tucked up in the guest room, Beren and Rosie had made themselves some soft mattresses in the stables and Lostwithiel and Poppy were only a short distance down the hill in an elven tree house.  “I suppose,” she continued, “that it’s very nice that they want to spend so much time with us but the amount of mothering I’m doing – not to mention the cooking and the sheet washing – is beginning to wear me out.”

 

They stumbled into the kitchen and Thorin began to sort out plates and pots and frying pans whilst Tauriel dug out the bread, eggs and bacon.  “Perhaps we ought to write another story to make life easier for ourselves,” she said as she cracked some eggs into a cup.

 

“Mmm,” said Thorin thoughtfully.

 

They were so lost in thought that they didn’t hear the front door quietly open.  It had been a very windy night and Poppy and Lostwithiel had finally abandoned their swaying tree house and had decided to come up the hill for an early breakfast.  “They’re bound to be up,” said Poppy. “They always are.”  But they entered quietly anyway, just in case.  Poppy could hear some movement in the kitchen where the door was ajar and the sound of her parents talking together.  And then, for some reason, as she caught the gist of what they were saying, she pressed a warning finger to her lips and they both strained to overhear the conversation.

 

“Yes, let’s write a new story,” she heard her mother say.  “What about that idea we had to do with spending a whole week in bed together?  Have you made any progress?”

 

“Not, really,” replied her father.  “I can’t think of a sensible reason to explain to them all why we would need a week in bed together – only embarrassing ones.”  He chuckled softly and then there was silence.  And Poppy could clearly imagine just what they were up to during that pause.

 

“Mmm,” murmured Tauriel at last.  “I could really do with a week of that.”

 

“And what about another week of this,” whispered Thorin.  Once more there was a dramatic pause.  Lostwithiel grinned at his wife, but Poppy squirmed and turned pink.

 

“What about if we write a story,” Tauriel continued, “where we’re both ill?  That would give us a good reason to go to bed for a week.”

 

“Nope,” grunted Thorin, not convinced.  “I doubt that anyone would think we were telling the truth – people just don’t get ill in this place.  And, even if we could convince them that we were ill, they would be in and out all the time, checking to see if we were all right.  How could I have my wicked way with you if that were happening?”  And he gave a quiet, suggestive chuckle that turned Poppy even pinker.

 

“Well, what about organising a holiday – far away – for all of them?  They’d be gone for more than a week then, I reckon, exploring their new environment,” suggested Tauriel.

 

“That’s a pretty good idea,” exclaimed Thorin.  “Just think of the fun we could have if we had more than a week together.”  And the silence descended again.

 

“Or,” murmured Thorin – and Poppy could hear the sound of little, smacky kisses interspersing his words – “we could tell them the truth – sort of.”

 

“Mmm,” her mother murmured back, and the smacky kisses continued.  “What sort of truth?”

 

“Well, we could just be blunt and say we were very tired and that we needed a break and that we didn’t want to see hide nor hair of them for a week.  Knowing how they view their elderly parents, I’m pretty convinced that they would think we were sleeping through that time.”

 

Poppy turned to her husband.  “Those two are just SO embarrassing!” she whispered.

 

Lostwithiel laughed softly.  “I think I can give them what they want,” he whispered back, “but I shall need to borrow the laptop for that.”  And he picked up the laptop from the table, tucked it under his arm, and made a hasty retreat from the forge.

 

Poppy and ‘Thiel hurried down the hill together.  “You’re not really going to give them what they want?” grumbled Poppy, still flushed red from her eaves-dropping.  “It’s about time those two started acting their age.  Perhaps you can write a story in which they both suddenly discover the virtues of sexual restraint.”

 

“And when are you going to discover this virtue, O mother of a grown-up daughter?” asked the elf, one eyebrow quirked cheekily.

 

“It’s different for us,” snapped Poppy.  “I’m still relatively young.”

 

“What’s relative?” grinned her husband.  “I’m the same age as your mother and a lot older than your father and we all appear to have drunk from the fountain of youth since arriving in this place.  When’s the right time to stop?”

 

Poppy was beginning to look very bad-tempered.  “If it were your parents we were discussing, I’m sure you wouldn’t be talking this way,” she said.  “I could just DIE when I think about them together!”

 

“Well, just don’t think about it then,” the elf lord laughed.  But then he felt sorry for her, stopped his teasing and gave her a hug.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “I owe Thorin one for interfering in our love life when he wrote that story about Mary Sue.  I think it’s about time to pay him back.”  And he pulled her down in the shade of their tree house and started typing.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

In Bed with Thorin and Tauriel

 

As had become the norm, everyone was gathered together for breakfast around Thorin’s table.   They chattered and laughed and thanked Tauriel as she placed a feast upon the table.

 

“Fantastic,” exclaimed Lostwithiel.  “You always knew how to cook, Tauriel.”

 

“And my father’s not too shabby with a frying-pan either,” laughed Arion.  “I always remember him helping out in the kitchen from when I was a child.”

 

Thorin plonked the teapot down on the table.  “Your mother’s got something to say,” he announced rather curtly.

 

Everyone’s eyes turned curiously towards her.  Tauriel sat down slowly.  “I’m very tired,” she said.  And, for the first time, they all looked properly at her and noticed the shadows under her eyes.  Suddenly, her children, her granddaughter and their partners felt rather guilty.  Tauriel was their mother figure: she looked after people.  And they had casually let her look after them with no thought as to the effort that was involved.

 

“Oh, grandmother,” cried Rosie, leaping to her feet and throwing her arms around her, “we’ll look after you from now on, don’t you worry.  We’ll all take turns to cook breakfast so that you don’t have to get out of bed so early in the morning.”  And she gave her a big kiss.

 

Everyone else nodded enthusiastically.  “I always used to help my mother with breakfast,” said Beren, “and me and Rosie and Lostwithiel all had plenty of cooking practice up at the outpost.”

 

“And I did a load of housework when I was at home,” said Mary Sue.  “You must sit back and let us help you.”  And there was a general murmur of agreement.

 

Tauriel smiled at them all.  “It’s very kind of you,” she said, “but Thorin and I need a complete break for a short time.”

 

Thorin leaned forward and took Tauriel’s hand.  “Yes, what we want you to do is just go away for a week so that your mother and I can cast off all responsibility and have a real rest.  Perhaps Arion and Mary Sue can go and stay with Poppy and Thiel in their tree house; and how if Beren and Rosie go and spend time with his parents?  I’m sure they’d like that.  And then, when you come back, that’s when we can make arrangements for you to help with the cooking and housework.”

 

They all nodded enthusiastically.  It sounded like a good plan.  And anything to give Thorin and Tauriel a proper break.

 

And so everyone ate breakfast and chatted away, discussing the sort of things that Thorin and Tauriel could do with their time on their little holiday.  Picnic spots were suggested, scenic horse rides were recommended and relaxing exercises were demonstrated on the sitting-room carpet.  Only Lostwithiel sat back with a twinkle in his eye.

 

When the plates had been cleared and the young people had righteously done the washing-up, everyone finally got ready to leave.  “And,” said Thorin on the doorstep, “we don’t want to see any of you for a week: no checking out to see if we’re all right; no little trips with baskets of food; no worrying of any kind.  If we need you, we’ll come for you.”

 

“Yes, father/grandfather/Thorin,” they all chanted dutifully and then they left with a cheerful wave.  Lostwithiel lingered behind.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said mischievously to Thorin; and, with a dig in the ribs, he went off whistling down the hill.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and Tauriel breathed a great sigh as they closed the door behind their son-in-law.

 

“Do you think he’s guessed?” asked Tauriel.

 

“Of course he has,” said Thorin, rolling his eyes.  “But, don’t worry.  The rest of them will stop him from coming should he suggest a visit.”  Then he turned to Tauriel and took her in his arms.  “I just don’t believe,” he smiled, “that we’ve got the place to ourselves for a week.”

 

“Hmm, what shall we do with ourselves?” she grinned.  “Horse-riding?  A nice walk?  A picnic?  Or perhaps some relaxing exercises.”

 

“I’m relaxed enough, my love,” he murmured, kissing her neck and pulling at the cords on her robe.

 

But she held his hand.  “We’ve got all week,” she whispered.  “We don’t have to scrabble around or rush at things.  I’ve got the copper on, boiling up the water for a bath.  Let’s just luxuriate in the time we have on our hands.

 

Thorin was a little charged up but knew that Tauriel was right: if you took things slowly, then the bigger the prize at the end.  There was a large tin bath hanging on the wall outside and they brought it in and placed it in front of the fire.  Then they ladled the hot water from the copper into buckets and, plodding backwards and forwards, they emptied it into the bath.  It was a time-consuming process but they knew it would be worth it.  Finally, Tauriel emptied a vial of sweet-smelling perfume into the water and everything was ready.

 

“Now will you let me help you off with your clothes,” he said huskily, once more tugging at the cords.  He pulled the ties undone, opened her robe and slid the silky material from her shoulders, burying his face in her neck.  “Oh, Tauriel,” he groaned.

 

There was a sharp knock at the door.

 

Thorin looked furious.  “I don’t believe it,” he said.  “I’ll kill them!”  And, pulling his own robe tightly about him, he marched to the door and flung it open.

 

“Gandalf!” he croaked.

 

“Thorin,” said Gandalf calmly.  “Nearly time for lunch, I believe.”   And he swept past him into the room where Tauriel was desperately struggling back into her robe.

 

“Gandalf!” she gasped.

 

“Tauriel, my dear,” he said, leaning forward to peck her on the cheek and not seeming to notice her state of disarray.  Then his eyes slid past her.  “A bath!” he exclaimed.  “How wonderful!  Did you see me coming?”

 

“No,” said Thorin rather curtly.  “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

 

“Well,” said the old wizard, “we haven’t socialised properly since that ship came in and I thought it would be nice to have a bit of a visit.  I’ve just ridden twenty miles – I’ve been on the go for hours.  And what a wonderful surprise!”  And he flung an arm in the direction of the bath.  “You don’t mind if I use it before lunch, do you?” he added.  “I’m feeling pretty dusty.  And it’s politer to sit up to the table when you’re nice and clean, isn’t it?”  And, without waiting for an answer, he removed his cloak and began to disrobe.

 

They both gawped at him for a moment and then they hurried into the bedroom to get dressed.   “What a start to our week,” muttered Thorin, pulling on a shirt.  “You go and make lunch, Tauriel.  The sooner we feed him, the sooner we’ll probably get rid of him.  Now I’ll just go and help him before the old duffer slips on the soap and kills himself.”

 

“You can’t kill yourself in the Undying Lands,” said Tauriel.

 

“I wish,” growled Thorin and stomped from the room.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

But, although they dropped many a hint as they sat around the table during lunch, Gandalf just didn’t seem to pick up on any of them.  And when he had polished off a sizeable meal, he said: “I’ll just sit outside with my pipe, Thorin, whilst you two have a tidy” – and he gestured to the cold water in the bath – “and then you can come and blow smoke rings with me whilst we reminisce and Tauriel washes up.”  They both could have slapped him.

 

When Thorin was finally sitting outside on the bench with Gandalf, trying to make polite conversation but thinking all the while of warm baths and tantalising perfumes and soft skin, he finally brought himself to ask when the wizard was thinking of returning home to his retreat up in the hills.  “You won’t want to leave it too late,” he pressed, “or it will be dark before you make it back.”

 

“Seems a shame to rush things,” mused the wizard, stroking his beard, “after I’ve come all this way.  I think the best idea is for me to stay the night and set out tomorrow morning.”

 

Thorin went to break the news to Tauriel and she sighed and began to get out more food for the evening meal.  “Don’t get in a state,” she said.  “He’s a good friend: let’s make him feel comfortable and then make up for lost time once he’s gone tomorrow.”  Well, it was the only thing they could do, but Gandalf continued to irritate when he announced that he didn’t want to use the guest bedroom but preferred a mattress in front of the fire.  “You appreciate a fire at night at my age he said,” with a smile.  “Sorry to be such a nuisance.”

 

“No problem,” said Thorin between gritted teeth.

 

But once he and Tauriel were shut away in their bedroom that night, he threw himself bad-temperedly on the bed and hissed in a hushed voice:  “That really does it!  Now we can’t even make love in the privacy of our own bedroom because the walls are too thin.”

 

“We can try,” said Tauriel.

 

“The triumph of optimism over experience,” sulked Thorin.  “You know it’s not on.  There’s nothing wrong with his hearing and I shan’t be able to – you know – if I keep thinking of him only yards away.”

 

And so, “you know” never happened that night although they lay there feeling very wound up for a long time.  On top of that, Gandalf had announced that he wanted an early breakfast and, as usual, they found themselves staggering from their bed and into the kitchen at the crack of dawn.  But, after breakfast, he chatted and smoked his pipe and admired the view forever, it seemed.  In the end, Thorin fetched and saddled his horse and stood waiting pointedly with the steed until he finally, FINALLY, took the hint and left.  “Lovely to see you again!” he called as he trotted away.  “We must do it again.”

 

“Not if I can help it,” muttered Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel and Thorin collapsed upon the bed.  “I’m so tired,” said Tauriel, “and the day’s already wearing on.  I got so little sleep last night.”

 

“Just come and lie on my shoulder for a bit,” said Thorin.  “Then, when we’ve had a rest, perhaps we shall feel ready for a bit of relaxed love-making.  I’ve been thinking about it ever since we got that bath ready yesterday, so I’ve got a lot of love stored up,” he growled.  And Tauriel giggled and snuggled up to her husband, slipping her hand inside his shirt and resting it over his heart.

 

“Just five minutes,” she said, yawning………

 

Four hours later, they woke with a start as yet someone else hammered on the door.

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” she muttered, getting dazedly to her feet, and poking a groaning Thorin.

 

“Is that Gandalf back again?” he asked.  “Just tell him to go away.”  And he pulled the pillow over his head.

 

But, when she opened the door, she was startled to find Bilbo on the doorstep.  Thorin came up behind her and peered over her shoulder.  “Bilbo?” he said.  “Is there a problem?”

 

The little hobbit blinked.  “No, no problem,” he said.  “But it was such a lovely afternoon that I thought a stroll up from the harbour to pay you a visit wouldn’t go amiss.”  Then he looked at their tousled hair and their sleep-filled eyes.  “Have you two been having an afternoon nap?” he asked in that slightly officious voice that Thorin had always found rather irritating.  “They’re not good for you, you know – interrupt the day and make you feel worse when you wake up.  Don’t recommend them.  You’ll be glad later that I knocked on your door.”  And he made his way past them into the room.  He settled himself comfortably and then cheered them up a bit by drawing out a delicious-looking, home-baked chocolate cake from his pack.

 

“Here you go,” he smiled.  “Make the tea, Tauriel.  What could be nicer than a cup of tea, a slice of cake and a chat with friends?”

 

Well, Thorin could think of one thing, but chocolate cake came second on the list.  And so they sat outside on the bench with their tea and cake and basked in the autumnal sun.  They spoke about the children and they spoke about the War of the Ring and they grew sleepy in the pleasant warmth.  Then Tauriel invited Bilbo to stay for dinner but then, of course, the sun went down and Bilbo eyed the mattress that still lay in front of the fire and asked if he could stay the night and they sighed and said: “Of course you can.”

 

They climbed wearily into bed that night.  “Repeat performance, Tauriel?” asked Thorin.

 

“I think so, my love,” said Tauriel.  And she gave him a kiss and fell asleep in his arms.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

_(“Oh, ‘Thiel,” laughed Poppy as she leaned on his shoulder and read what he was typing.  “You’re a very naughty boy.  They’re having even less fun than they would normally have in a week with us hanging around the house.  At least they get the nights to themselves with the rest of us tucked out of the way.”_

_“So,” grinned the elf, “shall I take pity on them?”_

_“Just a little,” said Poppy.  “I think I can cope with something sedate and suitable for their age group.”_

_Lostwithiel shook his head at his wife’s prudery and started to type again.)_

 

Thorin woke up early the next morning and surreptitiously began to undo the laces of Tauriel’s night gown.  As she slowly surfaced, he hitched up the hem.  “Take this off,” he whispered.

 

“I can’t,” she whispered back.  “If I do, then, ten to one, he’ll march in here with a cup of tea for us and I shan’t know where to look.”

 

And so Thorin decided that half a loaf was better than none and let her nightgown alone.  “We can be very, very quiet,” he said.  And so they made quite restrained love very, very softly until the end when Tauriel had to put her hand over Thorin’s mouth to muffle him which rather spoiled the whole experience and brought on a coughing attack.

 

“Cup of tea?” asked Bilbo, poking his head around the door.  “I’d see a physician about that cough if I were you, Thorin.”

 

.o00o.

 

Bilbo left later that morning after lots of hugs and kisses.  “These bachelors show a total lack of understanding,” said Thorin, “but he’s a dear friend.  And the chocolate cake was good.”

 

“Well, shall we start from the beginning again?” said Tauriel.  “I’ve put the water on so let’s get the bath tub ready.”  And they went out into the yard to unhook the bath from the wall once more.   But as they began to lift it off its hook, they were brought to a halt by the sight of a tall horseman mounted on a white steed making his way up the hill towards them.

 

“My favourite person,” hissed Thorin.

 

“Hello, Thranduil,” smiled Tauriel.  “What are you doing here?”

 

Thorin just glowered.

 

“Well,” said the handsome elf lord, lately King of Mirkwood, “I just this minute bumped into Bilbo who told me that he had been paying you a visit and I thought it was about time I came to visit too.”

 

“No, no, no!” muttered Thorin under his breath.

 

“You said something, Thorin?” asked Thranduil with an arch smile, descending gracefully from his horse.

 

“No,” said Thorin.

 

Thranduil took Tauriel in his arms and then looked to Thorin for permission with a raised eyebrow.

 

“All right,” grumbled the dwarf, “but only a small one.”

 

And Thranduil bent Tauriel backwards in a seductive sweep and planted a lingering kiss on her lips.

 

“That’s enough,” Thorin cut in and Thranduil obligingly released her.  The one-time King under the Mountain was made to feel like a petty little boy.  What was it that was so – so – nettlesome about the elf?  It was his arrogance and his superiority, Thorin decided.  Was I ever like that, he wondered?  Perhaps I was a bit, a long time ago, when I was a young prince and the house of Durin was at the height of its powers and reigned supreme at Erebor…….before the dragon came.  But pride goes before a fall and he wondered if anything would ever prick Thranduil’s confident bubble because nothing had so far.

 

“Well, are you going to invite me in?” asked Thranduil.

 

“Come in,” said Thorin ungraciously.

 

“Too kind,” murmured the elf lord and his lips twitched.

 

Tauriel smiled and, taking hold of his hand, led him into the house.  “Interesting property,” he said, noticing the way it was built into a cave.  “Your own design?” he asked Thorin, making it sound as if it wasn’t a compliment.

 

“Mine and Tauriel’s,” was the response.

 

Thranduil walked to the window.  “And a lovely view too,” he added.  Thorin wondered when he was going to let go of his wife’s hand.

 

But Tauriel rushed off to the kitchen then to prepare some refreshments.  There was still some of Bilbo’s chocolate cake left which she offered to the elf, much to her husband’s annoyance.  I fancied that for my tea, he thought.  But, he pulled himself together and, for Tauriel’s sake, managed to converse with his one-time enemy in a reasonably civil fashion, although it didn’t help that a faintly amused smile always seemed to be playing around Thranduil’s beautifully moulded lips.

 

The elf lord lingered for hours and, in the end, Tauriel asked him to stay for lunch.  Why, Tauriel, he thought to himself, why, for goodness’ sake?  But she did seem to take a lot of pleasure in her old friend’s company and so he compressed his lips and indulged in as many pleasantries as he could spit out.

 

Finally, Thranduil got ready to leave.  He indulged in a goodbye kiss that was longer than before because Thorin bit his tongue and decided not to demean himself by interfering.  Then he mounted his horse in an athletic leap (what a show-off, thought Thorin) and was gone in a swirl of silver cape.

 

The dwarf heaved a sigh of relief but Tauriel snapped: “I really don’t know why you don’t like him.  You always verge on the point of being downright rude and you embarrass me!”

 

I embarrass YOU,” said Thorin.  “I would suggest that it’s you who embarrass ME, indulging in all those passionate kisses – and in front of your own husband too!”  And feeling at the end of his tether, he stormed into the house with Tauriel following closely behind.

 

“If we have a good row, will that make you feel better?” asked Tauriel, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

 

“Why not?” returned Thorin.   “I’m sure you have gone off any intimacy with me ever since your beautiful boyfriend turned up - and a row is as good an excuse as any.  He’s enough to put anyone off their stroke, one way and another – you and me both.”

 

“If you don’t stop ranting on about Thranduil,” she exploded, “then I’ll……I’ll…..”

 

“You’ll what?” sneered the dwarf.  “Refuse to have sex with me?  And from where I was standing, those kisses were as good as the real thing.  Nothing left over for me at the moment, I can imagine.”

 

“You KNOW there’s nothing between me and Thranduil – and never has been!” exclaimed Tauriel, stamping her foot in frustration.

 

“No, I don’t know,” retorted Thorin.  “I only have your word for it.  And if kisses were any judge of the matter……or the condescending, amused looks he always gives me…….or the way you hang onto his every word, not to mention his hand……”  And he ground to a halt with anger and disgust written all over him.

 

Tauriel took a deep breath and then reached out to him.  “Thorin,” she said pleadingly.  But he glared and flinched away from her touch, shrugging off her hand from his shoulder.

 

Tauriel stood motionless for a moment.  “You….you……brat!” she finally exclaimed.  And then she turned on her heel, stalked off to their bedroom, slammed the door behind her and locked it.

 

Thorin stood sullenly for a moment in the middle of the room.  Then he grabbed his pipe and went outside to sit on the bench.  Well, that was their supposed week of love-making brought absolutely and completely to a halt.  He blew smoke rings and tormented himself with thoughts of Thranduil and Tauriel together over hundreds and hundreds of years.  How could things NOT have happened in all that time?  And yet he knew, deep down, that they hadn’t.  But, for some reason, he found perverse pleasure in tormenting himself with these thoughts and he didn’t know why.  Was it because he enjoyed the intensity of making up with Tauriel afterwards?  Was it because his insecurities made him feel that someone as beautiful as his wife must have had lovers in the past and could not be faithful to him, a dwarf, in the present?  Was it because he had finally got over Lostwithiel and so now needed a new object of jealousy to focus on?  Or was he just a masochist?  Thorin didn’t know and so drew on his pipe and gazed blindly at the view.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Too cruel,” said Poppy, beginning to feel very unhappy about her husband’s story.  “I want you to change direction and give them a happy ending.  I wish we hadn’t started this now.”_

_“The story seems to have a mind of its own,” sighed Lostwithiel.  “I’m not so much making it up as following where it leads.  I do wonder about this laptop sometimes.”  Then he snapped it shut.  “Let’s make some food,” he said, “whilst I think about it.  And then I’ll try to bring it to some kind of conclusion.”_

_“And I’ve decided that I don’t mind how you handle their sex life,” said Poppy as she mounted the ladder.  “If I don’t want to know, then I don’t have to read it.”_

_“Best idea,” said her husband.)_

.o00o.

 

Thorin smoked his pipe, knocked out the bowl and, then, with a sigh, returned to the bedroom door.  “I’m sorry, Tauriel,” he said quietly.  No answer.  “I’m really, REALLY sorry,” he said.  “I know I’m an idiot and that I don’t deserve you, but can you forgive me?”

 

There was a pause; and then he heard the key turning in the lock and the door opened.  Tauriel grabbed him by the plaits and pulled sharply.  “You STUPID dwarf!” she said.

 

“Yes, I know,” he said humbly.  “But this stupid dwarf is in dire need of a kiss.”  And he shut his eyes and waited expectantly.  The kiss was long and hard and he knew that he had been forgiven.  “Third time lucky?” he asked.

 

“The bath, you mean?”   And she chuckled softly.  Then they set about fetching and filling the bath once more.

 

“I’m locking the front door,” said Thorin grimly.  “And, if anyone knocks, then we’re not at home.”

 

They took turns to bathe each other and Thorin thought there was nothing more sensuous than soapy hands slowly passing over wet skin.  They rubbed each other dry with white, fluffy towels and then Thorin picked her up and carried her to the bed.

 

“At last,” he sighed as he lowered her onto the feather mattress and covered her with his body.

 

No-one knocked; no-one interrupted.  They took their time and finally fell apart from each other with long sighs.  “That was beautiful,” he said.

 

“You’re beautiful, Thorin,” Tauriel whispered gently.  But he was fast asleep.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Aww,” said Poppy.  “I didn’t mean to read it but I just had to know how it all turned out.  You’ve done a lovely job, ‘Thiel.  Will they now enjoy the rest of their week together?”_

_“I’m not so sure about that,” grinned the elf.  “I have this mean streak when it comes to Thorin, you see.  Tit for tat, and all that.”_

_“Well, how about this for a bit of tit for tat?” said his wife.  “You be nice to them and I’ll be nice to you.”  And she closed the laptop and gently led her husband away into their own bedroom._

_“Sounds like a fair exchange,” murmured the elf lord and closed the door behind them.)_

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Thorin vs Thranduil. Well, I'm looking forward to this moment in the film when the two of them finally confront each other in Mirkwood. But, here, Thorin organises a big Sports Event for the bored denizens of Valinor and our naughty Gandalf manages to arrange a contest that involves a hand-to-hand combat between the two kings. And the question is: who will win?


	37. Thorin vs Thranduil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Thranduil is such a pain, isn’t he? And so, just for those who enjoy reading about him, here is a story where Thorin is forced to confront Thranduil again. Will the elven king still get the better of him, as usual? 
> 
> In this one, Thorin is given another little task to keep him occupied and Arion gets a bit jealous: like father, like son? This time, Beren gets to write the story on the magic laptop.

 

 

 All About Thorin……And Everyone Else

 

Thorin vs Thranduil

 

Pt I

 

“Did you have a good week?” asked Lostwithiel, as he tentatively poked his nose around Thorin’s front door.

 

The dwarf was setting out the breakfast table for the family.  “What do you think?” he retorted.

 

“I know nothing,” grinned the elf and he opened the door wide and let everyone in.  Surreptitiously, he slid the laptop from under his arm onto a side table but Thorin noticed and glared. 

 

“So, that’s where it went,” he growled.  “I might have known.”

 

“But you did have a good time, didn’t you?” his son-in-law laughed.  “In the end.”

 

“Yes, we did,” confirmed Tauriel, as she came in from the kitchen and plonked bowls of porridge on the table.  “And now I think we’re both ready to face you all again.”

 

The family sat down to eat breakfast and everyone wanted to know what Thorin and Tauriel had done with their time off.

 

“Did you go on that lovely horse-ride I recommended?” asked Beren eagerly.

 

“And I bet you enjoyed some good picnics – the weather has been fabulous,” said Rosie.

 

“Well –er – no,” said Tauriel, looking desperately across at a laughing Thorin.  “We-um - we had lots of visitors instead.”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin, deciding to help her out, “the minute you all left, they descended on us – in droves.”

 

“Bad luck,” commiserated Arion.  “Looks as though you two will never get any rest.”

 

Thorin tried to look hard done by and had the urge to kick Lostwithiel, who was grinning broadly across the table at him, in the shins.

 

“Who came visiting then?” asked Mary Sue.

 

“Well, first Gandalf,” said Tauriel.

 

“He had a bath and stayed for the night,” grunted her husband, remembering the bath with a scowl.

 

“That’s good to hear,” said Arion, thinking about the wizard’s visits during his childhood.  “I really must take Mary Sue up into the hills to introduce her to him.”

 

“And then Bilbo came – with chocolate cake.  He stayed the night as well,” Tauriel continued.

 

“And I remember his chocolate cake too from that time we went on our trip all the way to Lake Town,” Arion added.   “He’d better have some on offer if we visit him.”

 

“And then we had a visit from my favourite elf,” muttered Thorin.

 

“I thought I was your favourite elf,” laughed Lostwithiel.  “You can’t possibly be talking about Thranduil, can you?”

 

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Arion.  “I bet that made your day!”  And Arion remembered the time when he had been a little lad and he had started a fight with all the Mirkwood elves, mainly because of the way that Thranduil and Legolas had been over-familiar with his mother.  At least, on that score, he and his father thought as one.

 

“He’s a trouble-maker,” growled the dwarf, “and didn’t exactly improve upon my day.  I was glad to see the back of him, if truth be known.”

 

“Thorin,” said Tauriel sharply and gave him a warning look.

 

“So,” said Lostwithiel provocatively, “that only accounts for half the week.  What did you two get up to for the rest of your break?”

 

Thorin gave him a challenging look.  “We went to bed.”

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” put in Poppy hastily.  “I’m sure you needed a good sleep.”

 

The others nodded in agreement and were pleased that the two had managed to get at least some rest. 

 

Tauriel changed the subject.

 

“I think that Thorin needs a new project to occupy his time,” she said.  “Has anyone got any suggestions?”

 

They all thought for a bit and then a few ideas were tossed around the table.

 

“You could build me and Poppy a house,” said Lostwithiel.  “Your daughter is getting rather fed up with living in that tree.”

 

“Build one yourself!” snorted Thorin.

 

“Well,” suggested Beren, “there are three weddings coming up and two of them are in this family: Rosie and myself, plus Arion and Mary Sue.  Perhaps you could organise those.”

 

“No way am I letting my father organise my daughter’s wedding!” cried Poppy.  “This is something that a mother should do.”

 

“I haven’t got a mother in this world,” said Mary Sue quietly, “but I would love to have Tauriel help me.”

 

“So, let’s scrub that idea,” muttered Thorin with a sense of relief.  He wasn’t quite sure that his taste in wedding frocks and flowers and menus would be up to scratch.

 

“You did some training up at the outpost, didn’t you?” asked Arion.  “And I’ve heard that you also did some with the young elves in the tree houses just below here.  Why don’t you arrange to do some more training of one kind or another?  I’m sure there would be a lot of interest.  You taught me to swim, for instance.  Why not offer swimming lessons?”

 

But Thorin wasn’t too sure.  It was a long-term commitment and he fancied a project that would only occupy him for a month or so. 

 

“So, what about organising a competition, then?” Arion persisted.  “A swimming competition, perhaps?”

 

“No need to stop there,” added Lostwithiel.  “Let’s have a huge sporting competition involving not only swimming but archery, sword-play, unarmed combat, fighting with quarter-staffs, riding, running and so forth.  There’s a large flat area down by the harbour with the hills rising steeply behind.  We could set up a great amphitheatre there.”

 

“And don’t forget that I wasted my time teaching the troop how to fight dwarven-style with sword and axe.  Do we include that too?  I might even join in,” volunteered the dwarf.  “And I can imagine that Gimli will want to be involved.”

 

“Of course we do,” laughed Lostwithiel.  “I carried on that training after you left and I must admit that we’ve all become pretty good, even Rosie.  And your little group of young elven followers must be quite skilled in the art too after all those years of practising with you.”  And he nodded towards the tree houses.

 

“And don’t forget about fighting with long knives,” put in Tauriel, as she pointed to her own pair hanging on the wall.  “I’d be willing to compete in any trial involving that.”

 

The conversation got more and more enthusiastic and animated.  The idea was thought to be an excellent one and then Beren was chosen to write about it on the laptop.

 

“He’s not as biased as some I could think of,” Thorin said darkly and Lostwithiel had the good grace to blush.

 

So, Tauriel made another pot of tea and Beren started his story.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Thorin vs Thranduil

 

Thorin was in his forge, working on a farm implement, whilst trying to keep a close eye on Mary Sue.  She was bent over a gold buckle, carefully incising it with complex patterns.  Her fine, silver-blond hair caught the sunlight and floated like a halo about her head.  Thorin smiled quietly to himself.  She reminded him so much of his dead, adopted daughter, Rose – not in her nature but in her passion for crafting beautiful things.  Like Rose, she had begun to hang around the forge door soon after her arrival, and when he had invited her inside, she expressed so much pleasure in what he was doing that he had taken the time to show her certain skills.

 

Her head was bent at such a familiar angle, full of concentration and intensity, that he felt a sudden pang of loss and had to go to the door and wipe away the tear that had appeared on his cheek. 

 

Ah, the beautiful Rose, the daughter of his heart.  He sometimes missed her so much, but he would never look upon her face again.  She was the one thing that the Undying Lands could never give him.  Nor would he ever see her children.  He drew in a long, slow breath.  Be grateful, he told himself.  And here was Mary Sue, miraculously arrived from another world, in love with his son and wanting to learn his craft.  He smiled and turned back into the comforting warmth of the forge.

 

“Thorin!” yelled Seleth, the young elf from the settlement below.  Thorin halted in the doorway and lifted his hand in greeting.  “Can I talk with you for a few moments?” the lad asked.  And Thorin gestured him inside.

 

Seleth sat on the bench next to Mary Sue and she smiled up at him.  “Can Mary Sue share in your problem?” asked Thorin.  “Or would you like her to go off and get a cup of tea?”

 

“No, it’s all right, I suppose,” the elf replied.  He was good-looking, of course, but more slender than some, with delicate features and grey eyes.  “It’s about this sporting event you’re organising.”

 

“Don’t tell me,” grinned Thorin.  “You want to enter yourself for so many of the events that you need my advice on the ones I think you’re most suited for.”

 

Seleth sighed.  “Nope.  Completely the opposite, in fact.  I don’t want to enter any of them because I don’t think I’m good enough.  But, if I feel obliged to enter one of them, just to save face, I’d like you to give your opinion – perhaps even tell me what event the weakest competitors are going for so that I stand a chance.”

 

Mary Sue put down her engraving tools and began to listen quietly.

 

“Don’t come at things from that angle,” advised Thorin.  “Just tell me what sport you enjoy the most – or hate the least.”

 

“Well,” pondered Seleth, “using heavy weapons like swords and axes, is a non-starter because everyone seems stronger than me and can wield them more efficiently.  I’m not a fancy shot with a bow; my running is no better than average and I can’t swim.”

 

“What about hand to hand fighting?” asked Thorin.  “No weapons or strength required, only skill.”

 

“You’re probably right,” sighed Seleth.  “Thanks for your advice – I’ll think about it.”  And he got up to go.

 

But Mary Sue jumped up with him.  “I’m going to make that cup of tea now,” she smiled.  “Come on, I’ll treat you to one.”  And she slipped her arm through his in a kindly fashion and went with him out of the forge.

 

.o00o.

 

A few hours later, Thorin’s son stuck his head around the door of the forge.  “Have you seen Mary Sue, father?” he asked.

 

Thorin laughed.  “She won’t disappear into thin air if you take your eyes off her for five minutes,” he said.

 

Arion looked slightly embarrassed.  “Well, you and mother always stick pretty close together,” he said in his defence.   “I just love being with her and feel sort of at a loss when she’s not around.”

 

Thorin could understand that.  When they had been back on Middle-earth, at his forge in Ered Luin, he had always felt quite miserable when Tauriel spent time up at the outpost.  “I’m glad Mary Sue came to us, Arion,” he said quietly.  “I was only thinking this morning when she was working on that buckle there, that she reminded me, in an odd way, of Rose.  I really miss her, you know.  Now, if there were two children joined at the hip, it was you and Rose.”

 

His son gave a sad smile.  “I adored her too.  I don’t think anyone ever had such a sister.  I was really glad that she came into our lives, right out of the blue, even if we were all heartbroken when she died – Telbarad went to pieces, you know.  But she had so much love for everyone she met and we should be glad that she lived a long and happy life.”

 

The two of them stood in pensive thought for a few minutes, remembering the lovely Rose, a human whose years had been limited compared with the life-span of elves and dwarves.  They couldn’t change anything but only think of her with joy and be glad for all the happiness she had brought into the forge at Ered Luin.

 

Finally, Arion looked up.  “So, what about Mary Sue?” he asked.

 

“Oh, yes,” his father replied.  “Last seen going off arm in arm with Seleth to make a cup of tea.”

 

“Well, she’s not in the house at the moment,” said Arion with a puzzled frown.

 

“Perhaps they’ve gone down to the tree-houses,” suggested Thorin.

 

“Good idea,” said Arion, and went off in search of them.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Mary Sue and Seleth were not at the tree houses, nor had anyone seen them.  Arion was at a loss and cast his net wider.  He was just exploring the limits of the adjacent fields when he suddenly saw them emerging from a neighbouring wood.  Their arms were still linked but they looked strangely flushed.  Arion’s heart gave an unexpected lurch and he wondered what they had been doing.

 

He waved to them and they came towards him.  “Where have you two been?” he asked rather curtly.  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Mary Sue.”  And he not only noticed an exchange of glances between the two but the faint sheen of sweat that was on their foreheads.

 

“Oh,” said Mary Sue with wide-eyed innocence.  “Tauriel said she was going to make a pie for us all this evening and we were looking for some soft fruits for her in the wood.”  And she let go of Seleth’s arm.  “But we didn’t find any,” she added.

 

They parted company with Seleth at this point as he made his way home to the tree houses.  Mary Sue and Arion walked in silence the rest of the way to the forge and then Mary Sue said that she was going to wash and change for dinner.

 

Arion checked out what Tauriel was making for dessert.  “I’m not making anything,” said his mother, looking flustered and tending to a stew in the kitchen.  “It’s apples, pears or nothing.”

 

This gave Arion a lot to chew on for the rest of the evening and he thought that Mary Sue looked rather shifty when Tauriel produced the fruit bowl.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin had given himself a month to set up the sporting event.  He immediately sent out messengers to the surrounding areas within a 50 mile radius asking for contestants to register their interest.  They were all elves, of course, with the exception of himself, Gimli, Bilbo and Frodo.  However, Gandalf was Other, a Maia, and Thorin wondered if it were fair to allow him to participate, or even if he would want to.

 

Then he went down to the wide grassy plain just outside the harbour area and arranged for the grass to be cut and various areas to be laid out ready for the different sports and for rows of wooden benches to be set up in tiers on the hill that backed the plain so that the spectators could be comfortable.  Tauriel and Poppy agreed to organise the food.

 

After a couple of weeks, after no new contestants were coming forward, he sat down with his lists to see if sufficient numbers had volunteered for all the different bouts.  He was pleased to see that the entire troop of elves from the former outpost and those from the nearby tree-houses had put themselves forward for a goodly number of events, including the melee with sword and axe, which, of course, included Gimli.  Tauriel had signed up for the fight with the long knives; Legolas was the favourite to win at the archery competition with the long, elven bow and Arion was favourite with the short dwarven bow.  Beren and Rosie were both hoping to do well in the horse racing and Seleth, Thorin noted, had finally decided to go in for unarmed combat.  Poppy, who had never been interested in training with Thorin, was content to look after the food and the two hobbits had decided to volunteer as referees.  “They’re officious enough,” laughed Thorin.

 

Then much to his surprise and pleasure, he noticed that Mary Sue had entered for a swimming race.  “And after you nearly drowned, too,” he commented.

 

“Oh, the shame of that moment,” she said wryly.  “And me who used to swim for the County at school.  If it hadn’t been for that debris wrapping itself around my legs, it would never have happened.”  Thorin was really intrigued to see how she fared.

 

Gandalf had decided not to participate, as had Thorin.  It was a foregone conclusion that he would win with sword and axe and wanted to give Gimli and some of the more skilled elves a chance.  An organiser was also needed to be on hand throughout the day, announcing the events and awarding the medals.  Thorin knew that his great voice would carry well and he remembered that time during The Battle of the Five Armies when he had cried out across the valley and summoned elves, dwarves and men to his side.  On top of that, he rather fancied the pleasure of congratulating the winners.  Gold, silver and mithril had been brought to him by all and sundry and he had been busy creating the medals in his forge for some weeks.  And everyone who participated would get a certificate: Poppy had a very artistic hand and she was pleased that she could make her contribution behind the scenes, writing the manuscripts and illuminating them quite beautifully.  It was a big job and Thorin was proud of the way that she stuck at it for hours on end.

 

There was only a week to go and there were just the loose ends to tie up.  The whole community was getting very excited and, wherever he went, Thorin was greeted with thanks and congratulations for organising the event.  He felt very useful and Tauriel was pleased to see what a good mood it had put him in.  He walked around the house with a cheerful smile on his face and she often heard him singing as he worked in his forge.

 

Arion, meanwhile, became quieter and more withdrawn as the days passed.  Tauriel was surprised to notice that he seemed so stressed because she had always thought he had a naturally competitive nature.  But, he was worrying about Mary Sue.  There was always some moment in the day when she slipped away and, if he noticed and went looking for her, he would sometimes see her emerging from the woods with Seleth yet again.  He didn’t approach them when this happened: he just watched from a distance and worried about it.  The day before the event, he actually went searching for them in the woods – and then wished he hadn’t – because he found them down by a river half-dressed and scrambling into some clothes, their faces pink and their hair all mussed up.

 

Arion slipped quietly away and shut himself in the stables.  He felt totally destroyed and tried to guess when – or if - the two of them would have the courage to tell him about their affair.  He wondered how he had failed Mary Sue but had to admit that Seleth was very attractive in that elven sort of way, whereas he, being only half-even, also had a dwarven earthiness to his looks which perhaps somehow diminished him in her eyes.  He wept and, for the first time in his life, wished that Thorin weren’t his father.

 

Things deteriorated still further when she came to bed that night and suggested that they didn’t make love but saved all their energies for the sporting events the following day.  When she turned over and went to sleep, Arion wondered if she were now so repulsed by him that she couldn’t bear to touch him.  It was a long time before he got any rest.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The morning of the Fun Day finally dawned and it was a lovely one.  There were clear blue skies after a lot of heavy rain in the previous week but it was not too hot.  Just right, thought Thorin.  The family had an early breakfast and then they all hurried down to the sports arena.  Plenty of people were already there, chattering and laughing together and, half an hour before the official opening, the benches were packed.

 

Thorin and his family sat along a front bench, together with the “referees”.  Thorin had a very large box in front of him containing the medals and Poppy had an even larger box stuffed full with her certificates, all of them carefully rolled and tied with a red, silk ribbon.  She had on a beautiful dress, which made her look very elegant and gracious, and she planned to be there at the end of every event, handing out both certificates and kisses to all participants.  I’m really going to enjoy this, she giggled to herself.

 

Five minutes before things began, there was a sudden stir as Thranduil made his entrance.  He strolled (in that snotty way of his, thought Thorin) across the greensward and behind him came a number of retainers carrying his own personal picnic basket and, to everyone’s amazement, his own personal chair.  And what a chair!  It was made of wood but wonderfully carved with a softly padded seat and looking very like a throne.  Thorin scowled.  And then, out of all the places Thranduil could have sat, he chose to park his chair at the end of the row of front benches, right next to Thorin. This, of course, meant that it looked as though Thorin was seated at his feet and the dwarf had to strain his neck to look up at him.

 

“Why, hello, Thorin,” the elf greeted him in a languid voice.  “I didn’t see you down there.  I hope I haven’t held up the proceedings.  Do carry on.”  And he made a gracious gesture with his hand.

 

Thorin felt as though his day was already spoiled and he opened his mouth to make a rude retort.  But Tauriel touched him gently on the arm.  “Time for your speech, I think,” she whispered.  And more than happy to remove himself from the elf lord’s presence, Thorin hastened to the platform where the medals would be awarded and which faced the tiers of seats.

 

“That was a lovely speech of welcome,” Tauriel told him later and, indeed, he had impressed everyone with his kingly presence and his sonorous voice.  He had been practising for weeks and it more than paid off.  Those who knew him were proud of him and those who did not, suddenly realised why this impressive figure had earned a place in the Undying Lands.  After Thorin had opened the games, there was a thunder of wild applause and many people shouted his name, cheering his efforts.  Even Thranduil felt obliged to bring his hands together, however languorously.

 

From that point onwards, everything ran very smoothly.  Thranduil was left to sit on his own because Thorin and Poppy were all over the field, greeting the contestants and starting the events.  Bilbo and Frodo were, with the help of Gandalf, refereeing and judging, whilst Tauriel was over in the food tent, making sure that all was well there.

 

The Oakenshield family was ecstatic as the day passed and the results began to roll in.  As was expected, Legolas won the archery competition with the elven long bow but there was a thrilling finale between Challis and Arion in the event with the short dwarven bow.  Arion had been given one of these bows when he was a very young child but Lithin, the elf who had finally married Challis, had given her a dwarven bow as a birthday present at the instigation of Thorin and Tauriel.  She had loved it and had practised with it ever since.  The pair were very evenly matched and, in the end, the event was declared a tie.  Thorin beamingly hung a mithril medal around his son’s neck and, when Arion happily returned to the bench, Mary Sue smiled warmly at him and kissed him gently on the cheek.  “Well done,” she whispered.

 

Gimli, also as expected , won the melee with sword and axe.  It was a very exciting fight and all the elves who had been trained by Thorin gave the dwarf a run for his money.  Lostwithiel was his last opponent left standing and Thorin was really pleased when the elf came second and he awarded him the gold medal.  “You were so determined to do well with these weapons when I first demonstrated them to you,” he said.  “You really deserve this.” 

 

The horse race started and Beren and Rosie gave the cheering crowds a neck and neck finish. Rosie’s horse finally won by a head.  “You let me win!” exclaimed Rosie as she dismounted.

 

“I did not,” laughed Beren.  “I never let anyone win, if I can help it, not even my intended wife!”  And he picked her up and kissed her soundly.

 

Then, much to Thorin’s satisfaction, Tauriel won her event with the killing knives.  Rosie had never seen her grandmother fight, and she was dazzled by her speed and grace.  Her pride in Tauriel shone in her eyes as she hugged and kissed her.  “Yes,” smiled Thorin, “I’m very proud of her too.”  And he hung the mithril medal around her neck and took her in his arms to the cheers of the onlookers.

 

Then it was the swimming race, from one side of the harbour to the other and back again.  Everyone was agog to see how this human girl from another world would perform.  Arion was concerned that she would make a fool of herself, but he needn’t have worried: she was so powerful that she finished yards ahead of the other contestants.

 

Now they all turned their attention to the unarmed combat.  The contestants appeared in tight-fitting outfits that allowed for no hand holds.  And there was Seleth, looking very dashing and fit and the Oakenshields gave him a big cheer with no great expectation that he would reach the finals.  But he confounded those expectations, defeating his opponents with some lethal whirls and kicks and tossing them over his shoulder with casual ease.  The whole family cheered him when he won but Arion watched as Mary Sue jumped up and down, screaming, her eyes glowing at his victory and when he returned with his medal, she rushed forward to meet him and flung her arms around his neck.

 

She’s more thrilled with his victory than with mine, thought Arion, and he felt his heart break.

 

Thorin rose from his seat to make his final address to the crowd as the games came to an end.  But, before he reached the platform, Gandalf mounted it and unexpectedly made an announcement.

 

“And now,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “we shall finish on a surprise event.  We are lucky today to have two kings in our midst: Thranduil of Mirkwood and Thorin of Erebor.  As a final flourish, we would like to invite these two kings to meet in combat with whatever weapon or weapons they care to choose.”  The crowd went wild.  Thorin and Thranduil gaped at each other but Thorin felt they had no choice but to satisfy their audience’s desire for a kingly fight.

 

“Ah, yes,” said Thranduil silkily, rising with feline grace from his chair, “but the problem is, my dear Gandalf, that neither of us were expecting to fight and so neither of us has his weapons to hand.”

 

“Ah, yes, my dear Thranduil,” responded Gandalf, his eyes still dancing, “but I have prepared for every eventuality.”  And he gestured to a group of elves who suddenly produced a selection of weapons belonging to both of the kings.

 

Thranduil gave in gracefully and, stepping forward, picked up a long sword in one hand and a short sword in the other.  He twirled the long sword easily in one hand whilst tossing and catching the short sword in the other.  The crowd applauded admiringly.  “My two weapons of choice,” he announced, giving Thorin one of his condescending smiles.

 

Thorin didn’t answer but picked up a sword and axe.

 

“Ah, Orcrist,” said Thranduil, looking a tad uncertain for the first time.

 

At sight of the famous Sindarin blade, the spectators went wild again.

 

Normally, in Thranduil’s presence, Thorin felt stiff, clumsy and tongue-tied.  But, with his sword and axe nestled so comfortably in each hand, he knew that they were on a level playing-field.  He cut the air with Orcrist in graceful strokes, feeling its perfect balance, and then acknowledged the screams of the crowd with a courteous bow.

 

“Thor-in!  Thor-in!  Thor-in!” they chanted and Thranduil looked slightly put out at his popularity.

 

“You don’t have to go through with this, you know,” said the elf, looking down his long nose at him.  “We can always say that we don’t think it’s appropriate.  And,” he added, with a patronising sneer, “I do feel rather unhappy at taking advantage of a dwarf.”  And he smiled graciously.

 

“Worried that you’ve met your match, Thranduil?” Thorin grinned.

 

“No,” snapped the elf lord.  “I just don’t want to see you make a fool of yourself!”

 

“How very kind of you,” smiled Thorin.  And the battle-light gleamed in his eyes and a calm mask settled on his face.

 

“As you wish,” said Thranduil icily.  “But I hope you don’t regret this.”  Thorin’s knowing smile and raised eyebrow began to bother him.

 

They both took off their surcoats so that they could fight more comfortably in shirt and breeches.  Thorin was not in the least bit concerned that Thranduil had had thousands of years more practice than him.  He was totally confident in his own skill and in his fine weapons.  They faced each other across the grass, Thranduil looking agile and lithe, Thorin exuding a fearsome power.  “You may begin,” said Gandalf, and the benches erupted in a deafening roar.  Tauriel could only watch through her fingers, understanding the significance of this clash of kings.

 

Thorin lunged forward in a terrifying attack, but Thranduil showed tremendous speed, staving off the strokes of his opponent’s weapons with apparent casual ease.  Then the elf lord turned the tables and drove Thorin back with lightning strokes from his two swords and Thorin had to use all his skill to block them.  The fight went backwards and forwards like this for some time and each seemed equal to the other.  The crowd gasped and cheered and even fell silent in awe during some especially skilled stroke or parry and no-one would lay bets as to which of them would win.

 

The pair began to pant a little and the sweat broke out on their foreheads.  He’s quite good, Thorin had to admit to himself, but perhaps not good enough.  And he smiled into his beard.  They were locked together at that moment, their faces only inches away from each other.  Thranduil saw the smile and was irritated.  “Ready to surrender yet – dwarf?” he snarled.

 

“Not quite yet,” grinned Thorin annoyingly as he thrust the elf away from him.

 

Determined to put an end to things, Thranduil called up some reserves of energy and went on another skilful assault, driving Thorin back and back across the field.  When the dwarf seemed unable to counter the attack with one of his own, his supporters began to groan.  “Come on, Thorin,” some of them cried in despair.  And Tauriel lowered her fingers, totally compelled by what seemed to be the final moments of the fight and her heart sank.

 

Have you no faith, Thorin thought to himself, as some elements of the crowd began to wail.  And he let himself be driven back a few more paces.  Nearly there, he grinned, and Thranduil was so irritated when he saw the dwarf bare his white teeth that he slashed even more furiously at his opponent.

 

Ahh, here we are, said Thorin to himself, and he stuck out his big boot and tripped Thranduil up.  The king went flying, carried by his own momentum, and landed face down in a shallow, muddy puddle that Thorin had noticed earlier in the day when he had been checking out the field.  The crowd fell silent.  Thranduil turned spluttering, sword at the ready, but he wasn’t fast enough – Orcrist was at his throat.  “Do you surrender – elf?” asked Thorin.

 

“That was – that was…..”

 

“Cheating?” asked Thorin, with an annoying smile.  “I would dispute that.  We must discuss tactics later.  Meanwhile, do you yield?”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil curtly.  Thorin lowered his sword and the crowd let out a deafening cheer.  Tauriel sat there, stunned with relief.

 

Thorin pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and kneeling next to Thranduil who was still sitting in the puddle, he gently wiped the mud from his face.  “There,” he said, as if talking to a child.  “That’s better.”  And then he laughed and pulled the elf to his feet.

 

“You’re a tremendous fighter,” he said.  “You had me worried on quite a few occasions there.”

 

Thranduil gave one of his icy smiles and tipped his head slightly.  “I bow to my superior,” he said.  And then he strode elegantly back across the field to pick up his discarded clothing whilst the onlookers cheered and applauded him warmly.

 

Not a bad loser, thought Thorin.

 

Then Gandalf awarded him the mithril medal.  He was still twinkling. 

 

“Perhaps I shall kill you later,” Thorin growled with a scowl.

 

“I just thought I’d give you an opportunity,” laughed the wizard.  “And you rose to the occasion.”

 

“You didn’t know I would win, though,” grumbled the dwarf.

 

“Didn’t I?” said the wizard as he walked away.

 

.o00o.

 

All the family, except Arion, went home that night in a happy, laughing mood.  Mary Sue was still hanging onto Seleth’s arm and the young elf was persuaded to come and eat supper with them.  “That was a fine performance you put on today,” said Thorin.

 

Tauriel and Poppy had brought some of the leftovers from the food tent with them and they all sat around the table, snacking and drinking tea.  Suddenly, her eyes shining, Mary Sue stood up and faced them all.  “Seleth and I would like to confess something,” she said.

 

Arion’s jaw dropped.  He couldn’t believe that they were going to reveal their love to the whole family.  And his heart clenched in pain.  The rest of them awaited her words with interest.  But when she spoke, her revelation was totally unexpected.

 

“I expect that some of you are wondering,” she said gleefully, “why Seleth performed so well in the unarmed combat when everyone imagined that he wasn’t particularly good at anything.”  They all nodded.  “Well,” she continued, “I’ve spent hours every day for the past two weeks training him.  He already had some pretty good skills but I showed him a few special tricks.”

 

“YOU trained him!” exclaimed Thorin in amazement, looking at the slightly-built, pretty girl standing in front of him.

 

“Yes, hard to believe, isn’t it?” she giggled.  “But I have a certain wiry strength built up from my swimming and I have a black belt – a top award – in martial arts back in my own world.”

 

“Unbelievable,” said Arion, but his broken heart was beginning to hold out a measure of hope.

 

“Yes, I’m sorry we had to lie to you, Arion,” muttered Seleth, looking a bit embarrassed, “but I didn’t want anyone to know.”

 

“Give us a demonstration,” said Rosie.  And so they all went outside and Mary Sue gave an impressive demonstration of leaps and punches and flying kicks of the sort that were unknown to them.

 

“Brilliant,” said Beren.  “I’d like to learn how to do that too.”

 

“And me,” shouted a lot of the others.  And they all returned chattering into the house.

 

But Arion held Mary Sue back and took her in his arms.  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

 

“What for?” she asked, her eyes wide. 

 

“For thinking that you didn’t love me any more but loved Seleth instead,” he replied.

 

“Now, what gave you that silly idea?” she murmured.  And then she kissed him on the lips and Arion knew that everything was all right in his world again.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Brilliantly written story, Beren,” said Thorin with satisfaction.  “I especially enjoyed that fight at the end.”_

_“Well,” grinned Beren, “I think we all find Thranduil a bit annoying.  I thought it was about time that he had his comeuppance.”_

_“Too true,” said Thorin, with a smug look.  “And I’m glad that I was able to provide it for everyone.”_

_All the others had gone to bed by now, exhausted from the efforts of the day.  “Now, be off with you,” laughed Thorin, “and go and celebrate your achievements with Rosie.”  And he shut the laptop and gave Beren an encouraging slap on the shoulder._

_Meanwhile, he thought to himself, the conquering hero here will now go and have a triumphant celebration with his own wife.”  And he turned down the lamps and went off to his room with a gleeful and expectant look on his face.)_

.o00o.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin's Second Honeymoon. Thorin and Tauriel go on a second honeymoon, but with Bilbo, Gandalf and Thranduil all responsible for giving them a good time, are those three capable enough to pull things off?


	38. Thorin's Second Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this episode, Thorin is having a hard time and Tauriel decides to make life a lot nicer for him by writing a story about a second honeymoon. Will Bilbo, Gandalf and Thranduil be up to giving the two a good time or will the hand of fate conspire to ruin it for them?

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin’s  Second Honeymoon

 

Pt I

 

Thorin woke up as the dawn came in, just after 4 am.  There were no windows in the bedroom, tucked away as it was at the back of the house in a cave, but he knew it was dawn because of the crashing and shouting that filtered through from outside.  He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

 

Tauriel was still fast asleep.  How on earth did she sleep through all this racket, he wondered?  He poked her and muttered:  “They’ve started again!  And it’s only just dawn!”

 

“Umm,” said Tauriel, stirring slightly. But then she turned over and went back to sleep.

 

There was nothing worse, he thought, than lying awake, unable to sleep, whilst your partner snored away quite happily.  After five minutes, he wondered if a bit of distraction would help and he slipped an arm around Tauriel and began sucking her earlobe.  But, she batted him away, murmuring, “I’m tired.”

 

Well, so am I, he thought indignantly and wondered how much longer he could stand the noise of building work that now echoed all around the room.  It had been going on for weeks and, at first, he had tolerated it because it was all in a good cause: his children and his granddaughter were finally building houses for themselves and the elven workers liked to get an early start.  The “good cause” was to his advantage more than theirs.  At last, they would be packing up and moving out, and he and Tauriel could have the house to themselves.  When they had engineered a week without the family, it had been wonderful and he was all for recapturing that moment, however much he loved his kith and kin.  He and Tauriel hadn’t been nearly as tired with no-one but themselves to look after and all that extra energy had to be used somehow: and he grinned to himself.

 

He tried again.  “You are persistent,” she said sleepily but, this time, she turned in his arms.  Thorin managed to ignore the noise and concentrate on the important job in hand and, afterwards, he slept for a short time. 

 

It was Tauriel who woke him up with a cup of tea and a kiss on the nose.  “Come on, sleepyhead,” she said.  “We need to get up and make breakfast.  They’ll all be knocking on the door soon.”

 

Not for much longer, he thought, as he sipped his drink.  At least that chore would soon be over.  But, in the meantime, he was exhausted.

 

Out in the kitchen, Tauriel was contemplating her husband’s plight with a certain amount of sympathy.  He was far more sensitive to noise than she was: it was to do with the trained reaction of a warrior and a leader who had to be on the alert even when asleep so that he jerked awake at the slightest sound.  She wondered what she could do about it.  And then she wiped her wet hands on a towel, went into the dining room and opened the laptop.  She thought for a moment and then typed:

 

Thorin’s Second Honeymoon

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

The family arrived for breakfast slightly later than usual.  They had stopped to look at the progress on their houses, now that the buildings were rising above their foundations.  Lostwithiel and Poppy would be furthest away, their house taking shape between the forge and the tree houses below.  It was elegant and built in stone, brought from the nearby quarry, because Poppy wanted a home that reminded her of her manor back in Middle-earth.

 

As you approached the forge, you could see Rosie and Beren’s house rising a short distance off to the right.  It was very elven in design, made of pretty, twisted branches and with wooden shingles, a bit like the outer part of the forge.

 

Arion’s house, higher up the hill to the left, had been built to a design supplied by Mary Sue and based, she claimed, on the sort of cottage she had longed to live in back in her own world.  They were very desirable, she said, and therefore always above her family’s touch.  They had to put up with living on a cramped modern estate, all brick, slate and tarmac.  This cottage was timber-framed, its gaps filled with wattle and daub, soon to be painted white, with a lovely thatched roof, which, although not yet constructed, the elves assured her was something they would be interested in taking on.

 

They all poured into the dining room, chattering excitedly about the progress on their homes.  Thorin placed the pot of tea on the table and slumped down on a chair.  “The sacrifices I make for my children,” he said wearily.

 

“Tired, father?” asked Arion perkily.

 

“Aren’t you?” retorted Thorin.  But, no, they weren’t.  They slept through everything with the soundness of youth.  Only Thorin was affected by all the noise.

 

Tauriel sat down next to him and patted his hand.  “Your father’s having a really rough time of it at the moment,” she said.  “He’s so tired that he can scarcely make it through the day.  I’m frightened that he will have an accident in the forge – he’s already had a couple of near misses.”

 

They all looked serious.  “So, what can be done about it?” said Poppy.  “The houses have to be finished.”

 

“Well,” smiled her mother, “if the work on the houses won’t go away, perhaps your father and I can go away instead.  There are still places in our new world that we haven’t seen and, after so many years of marriage, perhaps it’s time for us to take a second honeymoon.”

 

“I thought your life was one long honeymoon,” Lostwithiel muttered under his breath, but the rest of them applauded the idea.  However, when it got down to the practicalities, there were a few problems, the main one being where they would stay as they went on tour.

 

There were no inns: if people travelled, they camped or stayed with friends.

 

“How do you feel about camping?” Arion asked.  “I know you were obliged to do a lot of it on Middle-earth, but it’s not exactly romantic, is it?  The word “honeymoon” implies to me a certain amount of luxury and comfort.”

 

Thorin pulled a face.  “Well, we might be reduced to that.”

 

“Couldn’t you stay with your friends?” asked Beren.  “After all, Bilbo, Gandalf and Thranduil have visited you just recently and they owe you one.  And I’m sure that any of the outpost troops, including my parents, would be glad to see you.  And how about Gimli and Legolas, or even Elrond?”

 

“Mm,” said Thorin.  “I’ll make a list this morning and think about it.  I really can’t bear more than one more morning here and I’d like to set off tomorrow.  I reckon that if we are gone for a couple of weeks, the worst of the noisy stuff will be over.  Then they’ll just be finishing off inside.”

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and Tauriel sat for some time after everyone had left, contemplating their list.  So many of their friends were ruled out because they lived in tree houses.  Not only was Thorin reluctant to sleep in these – “I’d get no more sleep than if I stayed here,” he said – but most were small, one-bedroom places and there would be no space for them.

 

“So,” sighed Tauriel, “that means we can’t stay with any of my old troop because they haven’t as yet  moved on from the small tree-houses that were offered them when they first arrived.”

 

“Beren had a tiny spare room when he lived with his parents,” said Thorin, “which we could use at a pinch.  But it seems a bit unfair to squash in with them.”

 

So, they then studied which of their friends didn’t live in tree houses.  Bilbo and Frodo lived in adjacent wooden houses that had been thrown up quickly for them as a temporary measure.  “No spare room,” mused Tauriel, “but the houses are in nice gardens where we could camp for a few days, perhaps, whilst having access to all Bilbo’s facilities.”

 

And then there was Gandalf who lived in a majestic log cabin – if such a fine residence could be called that – up in the hills.  That was a strong possibility.

 

Elrond lived too far away, they decided, and that just left Gimli who lived with his best friend, Legolas, in Thranduil’s mansion, an apparently lovely residence, from what they had heard, built further down the coast.  “Well, he should have plenty of room,” said Tauriel.  “And you’ll really enjoy smoking a pipe or two with Gimli and talking about his father; and I would love to see Legolas again.”

 

“Two problems,” said Thorin grumpily.  “One, you may be keen on seeing Legolas, but he’s a trouble-maker, just like his father.  I’ll never forget that punch-up we all had with him when we last stayed with Thranduil.  And, two: Thranduil.  Need I say more?”

 

“Thorin,” said Tauriel rather sharply.  “Do you want to get out of this house or don’t you?  These are our only choices.  And Thranduil’s mansion is likely to be the most comfortable of anything else that’s on offer.”

 

“Of course,” grumbled Thorin, “you’re assuming that Gandalf, Bilbo and Thranduil will be willing to take us on when we turn up like beggars on their doorsteps.”

 

“Well, we took them on not so long ago when they turned up on ours; so, these are the three who are least likely to turn us away,” his wife retorted.

 

And so, it was decided that they would set out after breakfast the next morning and that they would take a pack horse with them to carry camping equipment and plenty of dried food, just in case, but that they would try to spend most of their time away in the homes of these three friends.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

The next day, after breakfast and goodbyes, they rode off down the hill trailing their packhorse.  As they approached the harbour town, they passed by the tree house where Challis and Lithin, Beren’s parents, lived.  Challis suddenly stuck her head out of a window and called down to them: “Hey, you two!  Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

 

“We’re off for a couple of weeks,” Tauriel laughed up at her.  “We’ll visit you on our return.”  And, on they rode, down to Bilbo’s house on the far side of the harbour.

 

Bilbo looked totally delighted when he opened the door to them and bustled them inside.

 

“There’s so much noise going on from the building work,” said Tauriel, “that we’re having a bit of a break – a second honeymoon.  And we wondered if we could camp out in your garden for a few days?”

 

Bilbo went all misty-eyed as he remembered their first honeymoon at Rivendell after Elrond had married them.  Arion had been born a few weeks later and the whole thing had been a significant event in the hobbit’s life.  He was all ready to move out of his own bedroom and camp in the garden in their stead, but they persuaded him that this wasn’t necessary.

 

They glanced around his one-roomed home.  It was attractive and cosy with a stone fire-place, a curtained-off alcove which served as his bedroom and another alcove which housed a small kitchen.  Either side of the fireplace were two squashy sofas and, although the room covered only a small space, there was something very welcoming and hobbitty about it.

 

“When we find the right site, Frodo and I will build a couple of hobbit holes,” he said.  “But this is very comfortable for the moment.”

 

He served up a delicious lunch from his little kitchen and then went to get Frodo so that they could have a companionable chat.  Thorin and Tauriel had only met Frodo in passing a few times since his arrival on the last of the ships but his knowledge about, and involvement in, the War of the Ring made his conversation very interesting.  However, Thorin had a feeling that he kept much to himself and secretly thought that he missed his old companions, Sam, Merry and Pippin, as much as he, himself, missed Rose.

 

That evening, after yet another superb meal – “you hobbits certainly know how to live,” laughed Thorin – they went out into the garden and pitched their tent.  Bilbo made them a hot drink and then trotted back into his house.  “I’ll wake you up with a cup of tea tomorrow morning – not too early, though,” he said with a cheerful smile.

 

He shut his front door and soon the lights went off.  “What an enjoyable start,” said Thorin.  “I feel really pampered even if we have to sleep in a tent.  And now,” he grinned, “for an even more enjoyable continuation.  And I don’t think you’ll need any clothes for the next bit, Tauriel,” he whispered.”  And, giggling, they crawled into the tent.

 

It was difficult getting undressed in the cramped space but they were soon snuggled down under the blanket.  However, it was as Thorin pressed his first passionate kiss upon his wife that he heard the first drops of rain patter on the tent and it was as he kissed her for the second time that the skies opened and there was a cloud burst.  Soon, a rivulet was running through the tent, soaking their bed roll; the canvas was unable to withstand the downpour and water began to splash upon them in large drops from above.  Torn between laughing and crying, they crawled back out into the violent storm and, wrapping blankets around themselves, they ran to Bilbo’s door and began banging for entrance.  Bilbo was there almost immediately and they fell in through the front door.

 

“Well,” said the hobbit, hardly able to keep back a grin.  “The words ‘drowned’ and ‘rat’ somehow spring to mind.”  And, it had to be admitted that the two of them stood there in a puddle of their own making, wrapped in soggy blankets, their hair plastered across their heads and faces, looking very wretched indeed.

 

Fortunately, their bags of spare clothing had been left in the house and Bilbo had soon supplied them with towels.  He pushed them into his alcove and pulled the curtain.  “Just get changed,” he said, “and I’ll make up a fire to help dry you out.”  And they were soon a lot more comfortable.

 

In the end, Bilbo directed them to sleep on the sofas whilst he withdrew to his bed.  “I’ll try not to disturb you,” he said.

 

Thorin and Tauriel lay down on a sofa apiece and gazed at each other across the gap.

 

“Unbelievable!” snorted Thorin, quietly.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning brought the promised cup of tea and a magnificent breakfast.  The sun was shining brightly again and they went outside to examine the tent which was lying in a sodden and crumpled heap in the middle of the lawn.  Thorin and Bilbo erected a drying line and they slung the tent over it.  “I suppose it MIGHT be dry by tonight,” said Bilbo in a doubtful tone.  And Thorin grumpily foresaw yet another night on the sofas. 

 

Then Bilbo busied himself in the kitchen once more and, after half an hour, approached them with a beaming smile and a very large picnic basket.  “There you go,” he said.  “If you walk further up the beach, away from the harbour, you’ll find some lovely picnic areas.  Very secluded,” he added.  “Now go and enjoy yourself.”  And he sent them off with a wave of his hand.

 

When he was joined for second breakfast by Frodo a few hours later, he nodded knowingly at him: “I reckon they think us old bachelors don’t understand.  But, what’s not to understand in the word ‘honeymoon’?”  And they both chuckled quietly together.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and Tauriel walked hand in hand for an hour along the beach without meeting a soul.  It was very beautiful there: the sea glittered and shone an azure blue against the white sand.  Dunes ran along the edge and backed off into a run of pine trees; the sweet smell of gum assailed their senses.  At last, they grew tired and found a sheltered spot amongst the dunes and, opening the basket, found it contained a large blanket which they spread out on the sand.  And then they set out the food and a bottle of wine.  So many delicacies, they thought, to tempt them.  And they couldn’t believe how kind Bilbo was being to them.

 

They savoured the food, eating slowly, and sipping the wine.  And after they had packed all the scraps back into the basket, Tauriel smiled at Thorin and said, “What shall we do now?”

 

They were sitting, facing each other, and Thorin leaned slowly forward and cupped her face in one large hand.  “What do you think?” he whispered.  And he gently pressed his lips to hers and eased her back onto the blanket.

 

.o00o.

 

It was so peaceful: the sun shone warmly on his naked back and he could hear the distant cry of gulls.  Thorin thought he hadn’t been so free from strain or tension in a very long time.  He felt as if he had no responsibilities except the one that involved making his wife happy.

 

“How long do you think we should stay with Bilbo?” asked Tauriel, wriggling happily beneath him.

 

“Well, if every day could be like this one,” said Thorin, “then I think forever.  But,” he grinned, “if that’s too long, then perhaps four days will do.”

 

They made their slow and wandering way back to Bilbo’s house at the end of a long and sunny afternoon.  They happily slept on the sofas once more in the knowledge that they would be spending the following day on the beach.  Nights were for resting on the sofas; days were for making slow and sleepy love beneath the pine trees.

 

By the time they finally left – reluctantly – they were not only very well-fed but they were also relaxed and a golden shade of brown after all that time in the sun.

 

The two hobbits waved them off with pleased smiles dancing on their lips.  “And, don’t they look well?” asked Bilbo smugly.  “I think I should be congratulated.”  And they turned back into the house thinking that there was a job well done.

 

.o00o.

 

They spent the day riding up into the mountains to Gandalf’s home.  “Goodness!” he said when he found them on the doorstep.  “I suppose all that building work must be getting you down.”

 

“How did you guess?” laughed Tauriel.  “We’re visiting friends and having a second honeymoon at the same time.”

 

“Well, you’d better come in and make yourself comfortable,” smiled Gandalf.

 

The spacious, wooden cabin was not all neat and tidy like Bilbo’s home – in fact there were books and parchments and odds and ends scattered all over the place and you  had to clear a chair before you sat down – but it had warmth and welcome written all over it.

 

There were three bedrooms, except that one was being used as a study: the walls were lined with overflowing bookshelves and there were so many books stacked on the floor, it was difficult to cross the room.

 

“And so, you can sleep in this one, next to mine,” said Gandalf, throwing open a door.  “I hope I don’t disturb you with my snoring.”

 

Thorin, who was standing behind Gandalf, rolled up his eyes and Tauriel tried not to giggle.  Then she went into the untidy kitchen and sorted out a pot of tea for everyone, washing the cups as she went along.

 

“You’ll have to cook for yourself,” continued the wizard, “because I’m not too good at it.  Not much of a holiday, I’m afraid.”

 

They assured him that they were just glad to have somewhere to lay their heads and then they laboured away to produce supper and tidy up the kitchen at the same time.  “Very kind of you,” said Gandalf, “but I wouldn’t bother.  It’ll be just as messy a day after you leave.”

 

They went to bed very tired that night.  Tauriel climbed into the big, wooden bed first and was horrified to hear it creaking at the slightest motion.  Then Thorin got in and the bed head banged against the party wall.

 

“Well,” sighed Thorin, easing down upon the pillows as carefully as possible so as to keep the creaking down to a minimum, “that brings an end to our romantic interlude, don’t you think?”

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, while Gandalf and Thorin were doing the washing up after Tauriel had cooked a basic breakfast, the wizard asked about their first honeymoon.  “You couldn’t have had much fun with all those elves in Rivendell,” he twinkled.

 

“Well, actually,” the dwarf responded, “it was very romantic and I was so relieved after I had tracked Tauriel down and she had forgiven me for all my silliness, that it could have been a cowshed and I would have enjoyed it.”

 

“I suppose this is at least one step above a cowshed,” grinned Gandalf, “but I’m not much of a host.  And, I’m afraid I’m always so busy that I’m going to make up a simple picnic basket – you know, just bread and cheese and apples – and I’m going to kick you out of here so that you can make your own fun.”

 

Thinking of the previous four days, making their own fun sounded like a good idea.

 

“Now, let me point you in the direction of a splendid beauty spot I’ve discovered up here,” he continued.  “If you follow my little river upstream, you will pass a wonderful set of rapids and waterfalls and then you will come to a lovely glade overlooking a high foss that debouches down into an amazing circular basin.  Good place to swim and bathe, I’ve found.”  And he then threw together a picnic basket and tucked in a couple of towels “just in case”.

 

As Gandalf had assured them, it was a beautiful walk to the dappled glade.  They went for a swim and then, wrapping the towels around them, they sat down to eat their simple lunch.  “It’s as wonderful as being amongst those sand dunes, isn’t it?” said Tauriel.

 

“And just as secluded,” said Thorin in a husky whisper.  “The food and service might not be as good, but the possibilities for entertainment will doubtless get a high rating from me when we leave.”

 

She ran her hands over his hard chest and through his still wet hair, then pulled him to her.   “It’s the sort of setting that stimulates the imagination, don’t you think?” she whispered.  And she slipped off the towel from around his waist.

 

.o00o.

 

Gandalf saw them coming from his window and smiled to himself.  “I expect this old duffer knows more about love than they give him credit for,” he murmured.  They looked so happy together.  He had always thought that theirs was a perfect match and he was pleased that he had managed to think of a way of adding a touch of romance to their days.

 

Their stay with Gandalf passed in a sylvan dream.  But after four days with him, they decided it was time to say goodbye.  “You know what dwarves say about visitors, don’t you?” Thorin laughed.  “’Guests are like fish: they stink after three days!’  And so, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

 

“Never!” chuckled Gandalf.  “I’ll let you go but only if you promise me that you’ll come again.  I shall miss Tauriel’s cooking.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

As Thorin rode down the hill, a gloom descended on him.  “I’m not quite sure that visiting Thranduil is a good idea,” he said.  “We’ve never got on and he’s bound to put me in a really bad mood.  Perhaps we ought to go straight home now, whilst we’re still basking in a golden glow.”

 

“But we’re not just visiting Thranduil, are we?  I’d like to see Legolas – after all, we were very close – and you want to meet up with Gimli.  If things go wrong, we can leave straight away.  But, it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

 

She was right, of course.  And so, by the time they approached Thranduil’s mansion, a most beautiful elven palace overlooking the sea, Thorin had geared himself up for the occasion.  It helped that the first people they bumped into as they rode into the courtyard were Gimli and Legolas who were just emerging from the stables.  Legolas shouted a welcome and the pair came running over as Thorin and Tauriel dismounted from their horses.

 

“We’ve come to stay for a few days,” smiled Tauriel, “if your father will have us.  We’re escaping from building noise and are on a second honeymoon.”

 

Thorin gritted his teeth and waited for Legolas to give Tauriel a smacking kiss on the lips, as was the Mirkwood fashion.  But, instead, Legolas gracefully bent over her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers.  And then he took Thorin’s arm in a warm and friendly grasp.  “Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain,” he said with a smile. 

 

Gimli noticed Thorin’s look of surprise.  “He’s learned a few manners over the years since he first met me,” he laughed.  “These elves just don’t know how to go on sometimes.”  And then he wrapped his fellow dwarf in a bear hug.   

 

They were hurried into the house and up to Thranduil’s private rooms.  The elf was standing by a window as they all entered and he turned and raised a supercilious eyebrow.  “To what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked in glacial tones.  And Thorin was quite ready at this point to get back on his horse and go.

 

“Oh, father,” snapped Legolas.  “Just because he dunked you in that muddy puddle the last time you met doesn’t give you a reason to be rude to him.”  And Gimli roared his hearty laugh.

 

“What a fight!  You should honour this dwarf for besting you and welcome him into your home!”

 

Thranduil gave a slight bow of his head and his mouth curved faintly.  “Of course.  How grateful I am, Gimli, son of Gloin, that you have entered my household and are at hand to instruct me in good manners.”

 

Gimli roared with laughter again.  “He’s a one, isn’t he, Thorin?  I learned to take everything he says with a good pinch of salt some years ago.”

 

And he turned back to Thranduil and waggled a stern finger at him.  “And if you’re about to kiss Tauriel on the lips, then don’t!  It’s not the done thing amongst us dwarves.”

 

Thranduil made an obeisance.  “I bow to your greater understanding, Master Gimli.”  And he kissed Tauriel’s hand.

 

“There you go, Thranduil,” said Gimli giving him a hearty slap on the back.  “It didn’t hurt, did it?”  Legolas just stood there and grinned.

 

Thorin listened to this exchange in amazement.  Gimli had not only had an effect on Legolas, it would seem, but he dared to talk to the haughty king of Mirkwood as if he were a child.

 

“My son will see you to your rooms,” said Thranduil, doing his best to bring a certain amount of gracious warmth into his voice.  And Legolas laughingly linked his arm through Thorin’s and escorted them to the guest quarters.

 

“Don’t mind father,” he said.  “The two of us are forming a pincer movement and we’re working on him.”  And he winked at Gimli.

 

The apartment they were allotted was very beautiful.  “There,” Tauriel sighed as she glanced around at all the elven splendour.  “I knew we’d be comfortable here.”

 

“Well,” grunted Thorin.  “I might be able to put up with it for a few days.”

 

.o00o.

 

As they got dressed for dinner, Thorin thought about Legolas and Gimli.  He had heard people talk about the great friendship that had grown up between them during the War of the Ring, but he was still amazed to see it in operation.  He hadn’t seen Legolas or Gimli, except for brief passing moments, since the time when they had all lived on Middle-earth together.  So much had happened since he and Tauriel had left for the Undying Lands forty years earlier and, it would appear, some of these were good things.

 

Gimli and Legolas had come on the last ship but Thranduil had arrived earlier which is why he had had the chance to build this luxurious mansion.  On the few occasions that they had met, he had seemed no different to Thorin, but remained arrogant, distant and icy.  However, now that his son and his beloved friend had turned up, it looked as though they were determined to change things.

 

As they sat at dinner with Thranduil and a goodly number of his old courtiers that night, the elf seemed to be making an effort to be gracious to them, paying as much attention to Thorin as to Tauriel.  “I wonder how long he’ll be able to keep this up?” Thorin whispered to Tauriel during a break in the conversation.  Tauriel kicked him on the ankle.  Then he watched Legolas and Gimli, heads together in close conversation, as they chatted on the far side of the table.

 

“They seem to be very intimate,” he whispered to Tauriel again.  “You don’t think…?”

 

“Just don’t think, Thorin,” Tauriel sighed.

 

That night, they climbed into the exquisitely designed bed and made good use of the wonderfully soft feather mattress.  This was the first time they had made love in a bed since they had set out from home.  “Bed, sand or grass?” Tauriel asked.  “What’s best, do you think?”

 

“Hmm,” answered her husband.  “That’s a tricky one.  Perhaps I need to try out this mattress again before I can make a decision.”

 

.o00o.

 

They spent five happy days at the elven mansion.  The nights were delightful, Thranduil behaved himself and they thoroughly enjoyed the company of Gimli and the “new look” Legolas.  “I think he’s grown up,” said Tauriel.

 

“That experience with the Ring must have been enough to change anyone,” said Thorin.  “All of those who went through that war seem to have changed.  I can’t help but be glad that we missed it and that Arion, Poppy and Rosie were on the perimeter of the fight.”

 

But, at last, it was time to go.  They thanked Thranduil sincerely and graciously and he did his best to respond with equal sincerity.  “He nearly managed it,” muttered Thorin.  Then they were off, along the coast and up the hill to the forge.

 

As they passed by Beren’s old home, his mother, Challis, leaped up from her seat in the garden.  “You’re back!” she exclaimed.  “Are you ready for that cup of tea now?”

 

They laughed and dismounted, tying up their horses to the fence.  The pretty elf, who, Thorin always thought, looked like a pale copy of his beautiful wife, kissed Tauriel on the cheek and then gave Thorin a big hug and buried her face in his fur collar.  “What a husband, Tauriel!” she giggled, still holding on to him.  “Did you know I fell in love with him the first time I met him?  He was such a flirt, you know?”  Tauriel gave Thorin a look and Thorin turned pink.  “I was so mad when I found out he was married and was prepared to utterly hate you.  But, when I met you, I knew straight away that I didn’t stand a chance.”

 

“And so Lithin was second choice,” said Tauriel rather stiffly as Thorin reddened further.

 

“No, silly,” laughed Challis, still holding onto Thorin’s arm and leading them to the seats in her garden.  “It was a lot more complicated than that.  Lithin turned out to be the elf for me in the end.”

 

And then she went off to get the cake and a pot of tea.

 

Tauriel stared at Thorin and was about to open her mouth when Beren and Rosie shouted to them over the fence: “Hey!  You’re back.”  And, after the tea and cake, the young couple escorted them up the hill to the forge where the rest of the family were waiting for them.  There were hugs and kisses and exclamations because Thorin and Tauriel looked so fit and well.  “All that sex,” whispered Lostwithiel in an aside to his wife.

 

“Then perhaps we should try it more often,” retorted Poppy.

 

The houses were nearly finished and the three couples had begun to shift some of their stuff into their new homes.  “You’ll soon be rid of us,” they all laughed.

 

And for the first time, Thorin and Tauriel felt sad and wondered if that were such a good thing after all.

 

.o00o.

 

_(Thorin cleared an embarrassed throat as Tauriel slowly shut the laptop and turned to give him a hard stare._

_“So,” she said, “perhaps you’d like to tell me about this ‘flirting’.”_

_Thorin looked really uncomfortable.  “It was that time that Rose was in tears because she thought she was in love with Lostwithiel and she believed she was going to lose him to Challis.  I flirted with Challis – just a little bit, honest – to test out her feelings for ‘Thiel and then I directed her towards Lithin.”_

_“And what do you mean,” Tauriel demanded, “that you flirted with her ‘just a bit’?”_

_Thorin harrumphed: “I – er - I gave her that look.”_

_“Not THAT look!  Not the look you reserve for me?” she said furiously, leaping up and grabbing him by the collar._

_“I’m sorry, Tauriel,” he whispered, as her grip tightened and she pushed him backwards into the bedroom.”_

_“I did feel really bad about it at the time.” His legs hit the edge of the bed and he fell back upon the coverlet._

_“Well, Thorin…..” she said as she fell on top of him.  And then she couldn’t maintain the severe look on her face any more and, to his relief, burst into gales of laughter.  “Well, Thorin,” she whispered silkily, “I think you’ve got an awful lot of apologising and making up to do.”)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Thorin and the Wedding. After Thorin's honeymoon, he and Tauriel turn their thoughts towards organising the family double wedding. So much to think about; so much to get right. Are the couple up to it or will various difficulties eventually defeat them?


	39. Thorin and the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin takes reluctant control of the family double wedding. Will the event go without a hitch? Of course not, LOL!

 

 

All About Thorin……..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Wedding

 

Pt I

 

Thorin awoke with a startled jerk.  Daylight was flooding through the half-open bedroom door and he had one foot out of bed before realising that it was no longer necessary to struggle up early every morning to make breakfast for the family.

 

He collapsed back on his pillow with a grin.  Ah, the luxury of it all!  The previous day, his two children and his granddaughter, together with their partners, had finally moved into their new homes.  After everyone had spent the morning putting the final touches to the houses and shifting every last article to the recently constructed properties, Poppy and Lostwithiel served up lunch in their splendid stone manor, Arion and Mary Sue provided afternoon tea on the lawn of their incredibly pretty thatched cottage, whilst Rosie and Beren cooked a hearty supper in their very simple but rather appealing elven-styled home.

 

From now on, everyone would cook their own breakfast and Thorin could stay in bed until he became hungry, if that’s what he wanted.  He stretched out his powerful limbs on the feather mattress.  Decisions, decisions!  Should he get up slowly and make Tauriel breakfast in bed as a treat on their first morning alone together?  Or should he go back to sleep and enjoy the sheer laziness of it all?  Or should he make love to his beautiful wife without having to keep one eye on the time or worrying that someone would come bursting into the house?  No contest.

 

Tauriel opened her eyes sleepily, then raised herself on one elbow to look down at her handsome husband.  “Making decisions about what to do with your morning?” she asked with a smile.

 

“Yes,” he said with a little quirk to his lips.  “And it’s very difficult.”

 

The elf ran a slim finger across his chest and began to draw lazy patterns with a sharp fingernail.  Thorin twitched.

 

“Well, I know what I would choose,” she said in sultry tones.

 

“And what might that be, my love?” he asked with a grin.

 

“A nice cup of tea followed by breakfast in bed,” she laughed.  And Thorin roared and pulled her beneath him, burying his face between her breasts whilst Tauriel shrieked and giggled.  And soon all thoughts of breakfast in bed were forgotten.

 

Afterwards, they fell fast asleep again and that’s how Lostwithiel found them as the sun moved towards its noontide position.  He leaned on the door jamb with a cheeky look on his face as Thorin and Tauriel began to surface.

 

“Now, that’s what I call a lie-in,” he commented.

 

“Making up for lost time,” growled Thorin, “after looking after you lot for years.”

 

“Don’t we deserve to be left alone for at least one day?” grumbled Tauriel, pulling the sheet up to her chin.  “Just go away, ‘Thiel.”

 

“Ah, yes,” said the elf lord , “ but first I have a message to deliver from your beloved family.  We all drew lots as to which of us should come and disturb you and I Iost.”

 

“Spit it out, then,” muttered Thorin.

 

“Well, we want Tauriel to write another story and we want her to start it straight away.”

 

“What about?” she asked sleepily.

 

“About what so obviously comes next,” said Lostwithiel with a raised eyebrow.  “Pay attention at the back!”  And with a chuckle, he went off to put the kettle on for them.

 

.o00o.

 

By the time they were dressed and had staggered grumpily into the dining room, the elf lord had a pot of tea on the table and had nearly finished making breakfast.

 

“There you go,” he said.  “And never say I don’t do things for you.”  Then he sat and watched them eat and, when they had finished, he pushed the laptop in Tauriel’s direction.  “You know what we want,” he laughed.

 

“Well,” mused Tauriel, “I can guess.  Now that you’ve all moved into your own homes and since Arion and Mary Sue and Beren and Rosie all exchanged silver rings months ago, they think it’s about time that we got together and arranged their weddings.”

 

“Spot on,” said Lostwithiel, swinging open the laptop.  “And now you may begin!”

 

Tauriel took another sip of tea and typed the title:

 

Thorin and the Wedding

 

_(“Shouldn’t that be ‘Weddings’?” queried Lostwithiel, reaching out to stop her for a moment._

_“Not when both couples are being married at the same event,” she said._

_“Aha,” smiled Lostwithiel.  “I thought a double wedding was on the cards.  But, how about a triple with Evanuil and Favreen?”_

_“They want to build a house as well, so their wedding will come later,” said Tauriel._

_“Ah,” responded Lostwithiel, still with his hand on her wrist.  “However, before you type any further, don’t forget that Poppy, as mother of one of the brides, wants to be totally involved.”_

_“Great by me,” said Thorin.  “You can write me out completely if you like.  I’ll just turn up and eat the food, if you don’t mind.”_

_Tauriel gave him a look.  “You’ll do what I tell you to do,” she said.  And she returned to her typing.)_

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“You know,” said Thorin, polishing off his last slice of toast, “I hate to admit it, but I’m quite missing the usual morning chaos.”

 

“That’s because you’re sitting here twiddling your thumbs with nothing to do,” said his wife.  “But, not to worry, because I have a plan.”

 

“Oh, no, not one of your plans,” he grumbled, but she knew that he had really enjoyed organising the recent games and that helping to organise two family weddings would give him as much, if not more, pleasure.

 

“Time for a double wedding, I think,” laughed Tauriel.

 

“No,” he said, holding up a hand.  “No, absolutely not.  You heard Poppy the other week.  She said that she wanted to be in charge of her daughter’s wedding and Mary Sue wants you to be in charge of hers.  I’m not wanted and I’d prefer to keep out of it.”

 

“Coward,” she murmured, leaning forward and kissing him on the nose.

 

“Too true,” he said.

 

“But, you helped with Rose’s wedding and with Poppy’s, so what’s the problem this time?” she persisted.

 

“Well, this time, there are two weddings, not one, with twice as many guests and with twice as many family members complaining and breathing down my neck, telling me that I’ve done everything wrong.”

 

“Actually,” said Tauriel, “I shan’t disguise the truth of the matter: I think your task will be incredibly tricky because they all genuinely want to organise their own weddings; but I don’t think they can manage on their own.  They will need your guiding hand but you mustn’t be too obvious about it or they will start to complain that you’re interfering.  Personally,” she added huskily, running a hand down one of his plaits in a way that always made him shiver with desire, “I am willing to admit I need your help, even if no-one else will.  And so the question is, Thorin,” she murmured, twisting his beard around her finger and tugging him in very close, “do you think you’re up to it?”

 

Thorin gulped.  “I’m always up to it, Tauriel; you know that,” he murmured.  But, as he reached for her, she leaped to her feet and said briskly, “Good.  That’s settled then.  I’ll go and fetch them all!”

 

.o00o.

 

When they all poured into his home, chattering and laughing as usual, Thorin felt comfortable once more.  It’s just like breakfast, he thought, smiling to himself.

 

“Well,” he said, “did you all enjoy your very own private breakfasts, then?”

 

“Yes,” said Poppy, pulling a face, “but I did miss everyone, I must admit.”

 

“Me, too,” chimed in the others.

 

“But this makes up for things,” smiled Rosie.  “We’re all together again for a good natter about something important.”

 

“We can’t all talk at once,” said Tauriel, “and so I think it’s best if your father chairs this meeting.”  And a look passed between her and the dwarf.

 

“So,” said Thorin, clearing his throat, “you want to organise Rosie and Beren’s wedding, Poppy?  Perhaps you can tell me what aspect of the organising most appeals to you?”

 

Poppy clasped her hands together and Rosie linked arms excitedly with her mother.

 

“The dress!” they exclaimed as one.

 

“I shall find suitable material and design the gown and choose the flowers to go with it,” said Poppy and Rosie nodded in agreement.

 

“She’s very artistic, my mother,” she said.   

 

“And, don’t worry, Mary Sue,” smiled Thorin.  “Tauriel’s very artistic too.  She’s been making beautiful clothing for all the family for years now.”

 

“I know my dress will be lovely,” Mary Sue smiled back, “and I’m sure that Beren’s mother will make his outfit, just to help out.”

 

And so, the dresses and flowers were organised and the women decided that they could also work out the menus between themselves.

 

Then they had to decide who was going to be invited.

 

“Everyone, I suppose,” sighed Tauriel.

 

“No,” snapped Arion, much to everyone’s surprise.  “Not everyone.  There are a couple of people that I don’t see as friends and who might spoil the day for me.”

 

Like who, they wanted to know?

 

“Like Legolas,” he muttered.  “The way he behaved with my mother just to cause trouble with my father all those years ago still sticks in my craw.  And I bet father could do without him, as well.”  And he looked to Thorin for support.

 

Tauriel gave Thorin a look too.

 

Thorin reached out and touched Arion’s arm.  “He’s changed,” he said.

 

Arion snorted in disbelief.  “Rose wouldn’t have wanted him,” he said sulkily, playing a major card.

 

“All those who were part of the Fellowship changed dramatically,” Thorin continued quietly.  “The rumours are true: his best friend is a dwarf and he was very kind to me when we stayed at Thranduil’s palace just recently.  His behaviour in Mirkwood when we visited that time was just a young man’s bit of fun.  And we got our own back, didn’t we?” he laughed, slapping Arion on the shoulder.

 

“I suppose,” said Arion with a reluctant grimace.  Then, after a pause: “He can come, then.”

 

But, as Tauriel sighed with relief, he added: “However, I still see Thranduil as a problem.  He really must have it in for you, father, after that muddy puddle.  So, don’t tell me that he’s changed too.”

 

“Well, umm, perhaps not changed, but he’s in the process of being changed and I think we should give him a chance,” said his father.  And with Thorin being so generous-spirited, Arion felt he could no longer persist in his grumpiness.

 

“And then there’s the boring bit,” said Rosie.  “Organising and sending out the invitations and then deciding where they’re all going to sit.”  And everyone groaned.

 

Tauriel gave Thorin another look again.  “I’m sure that your grandfather would be willing to take on that – er - burden, Rosie, plus arranging for the musicians and setting up the marquee and writing to Elrond asking him politely if he would be willing to conduct the service.”

 

Everyone was more than happy to unload the “boring stuff” on Thorin.

 

“Thank you very much,” grumbled Thorin later to his wife.

 

“But the boring stuff,” she smiled, “is usually the most important stuff.  And, now, they are very grateful to you for taking on these chores and I can rest happy that the wedding is under your control.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

A few days later, Thorin was sitting outside his home composing a letter to Elrond.  Elrond lived at least two days’ journey away but he had married everyone else in the family – himself and Tauriel, Rose and Telbarad, Poppy and Lostwithiel – and so it seemed inconceivable that they should ask anyone else.

 

He was chewing the end of his quill, rather stuck on the second sentence, when Mary Sue came flouncing out of the house and marched past him towards her own home with blackened brows.

 

Thorin was startled.  She was such a sweet-natured girl.  And he called out after her: “Everything all right?”  But he received no answer.

 

Then Tauriel emerged with an angry look on her face and flung herself down on the bench next to him.

 

“Well!  Rose and Poppy were never so difficult,” she snapped.  She and Mary Sue had been engaged in the delightful task of designing a wedding dress and Thorin couldn’t for the life of him imagine what had gone wrong.  The previous day, his wife had visited the elves in the tree houses below where some of them were involved in cottage industries, spinning and weaving beautiful materials.  And she had returned excitedly with a whole bundle of samples – silks and satins, lace and gauze, now strewn untidily on chairs, table and floor – which she had planned to show to Mary Sue today.  Girls’stuff.  Thorin was glad he wasn’t involved but knew it would give the two of them immense pleasure.  Which is why he was so taken aback to see both of them in such bad tempers.

 

“Erm.  Is there a problem?” asked Thorin.

 

“You bet!” said Tauriel, and she flung a piece of screwed-up drawing paper into his lap.  “We’ve been drawing designs for her dress, and she came up with this!  Apparently, she was a maid-in-attendance at a friend’s wedding back in her own world – someone she greatly admired for her style – and the bride wore something like this.  Mary Sue was so impressed that she decided that she would wear a similar gown if she ever got married.”

 

Thorin carefully unscrewed the piece of paper and flattened it out.  His jaw dropped.  “No!” he gasped.

 

“Yes!” said Tauriel.  “Apparently, very short skirts are in fashion there as well as plunging necklines – even at weddings - and unusual colours are all the rage.”

 

Thorin gawped.  The drawing depicted a girl in a very short gown – right up to the top of her thighs – and it was black!  The skirt was puffed out dramatically with layer upon layer of underskirt in a stiff netting that showed a vivid scarlet at the edges and which matched the red roses of the bouquet.  On top of that, the neckline plunged deeply in a most inappropriate fashion.

 

“Well I never!” exclaimed Thorin.  “She’ll certainly be the centre of attention if she goes dressed like this!  And not in a very nice way.”

 

“I tried to tell her that,” sighed Tauriel, “but she just lost her temper in the end and stormed out.  I really don’t know what to do.”

 

“Come on,” said Thorin, putting his arm around her shoulders, “I’ll make you a nice, calming cup of camomile tea.” 

 

.o00o.

 

Some time later, Thorin trudged up the path to the pretty cottage next door where Arion and Mary Sue had set up their home together.  When he knocked, she opened the door, still with an angry look on her face.

 

“Oh,” she said.  “It’s you.”

 

“Who else?” Thorin smiled.  “Tauriel has sent me to sort things out.”

 

“Well, if you think that sorting things out means persuading me to give up my design, then you’d be wrong.”  But she opened the door wider and grudgingly let him in.

 

He sat down on a dining chair in the charming interior and placed the crumpled drawing carefully on the table.

 

“So,” she said tersely, “I suppose you hate it too.”

 

“No,” he said mildly.  “I think it’s pretty wonderful – so unique.  And I’m sure that Arion will think you look wonderful too when he sees you.”

 

She looked surprised but relaxed a little.

 

“But, my only problem is, I think it will also upset Arion.”

 

“In what way?” she asked cautiously.

 

“Well, you know our dwarven tendency to extreme jealousy……”

 

“Sort of,” she replied.  “You mean like the way he thought I was having an affair with Seleth?”

 

“Oh,” nodded Thorin sagely.  “It can get much worse than that.  Possessiveness is in our blood.  And it can become very, very nasty.”

 

Mary Sue looked at Thorin curiously.  “But surely you’ve never been jealous over Tauriel?” she asked.  “You’re obviously the only person she’s ever loved.”

 

“That may be obvious to you,” he said, “but it’s not so obvious to a dwarf in the throes of jealousy.  You know, after we had exchanged rings, I walked out on her because I thought she was having an affair with Thranduil.”

 

“No!” she said, her eyes wide.

 

“It’s true,” he said, deciding to go the whole hog.  “We were apart for a whole, miserable year and, when I finally went after her and found her in Rivendell, she was pregnant with Arion……And I thought that Thranduil was the father.  That could easily have finished off our relationship.”

 

“Never!” she exclaimed.

 

“So, you see,” said Thorin sternly, “dwarven jealousy should not be taken lightly…..which brings me back to your dress.”  And he paused for dramatic effect whilst she hung on every word.  “Well, it may be stunning and beautiful – but, perhaps it makes you look a bit _too_ beautiful.  All the men at the wedding will have their eyes out on stalks and I can guarantee that Arion will become really jealous…… And I wouldn’t want to predict where that will lead you both.”

 

“No,” she said, wrinkling her forehead in concern.  “I see I may have to change my ideas.  What do you think of the colour?”

 

“Too ‘look at me’,” mused Thorin.  “A conventional white or cream silk would be best.”

 

She nodded.  “And the length?”

 

“Oh, definitely down to the floor.  You’re quite short and, if you wear a long, slim gown with very high heels underneath, you will look much taller.”

 

She nodded again.  “I hadn’t thought of that.  Good idea.”  Then, getting carried away by new thoughts about modesty, she said:  “And a high neckline, I suppose?”

 

“Yes, definitely halfway up the neck – finishing in a pretty lace ruff, perhaps.”

 

“And,” she added with enthusiasm, “long, narrow sleeves that end in points covering half the hands!”

 

“Perfect,” said Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

Some hours later, as the evening drew on, Thorin sauntered down the hill with a new drawing in his hand.  He entered the house triumphantly, just as Tauriel was putting supper on the table.

 

“Success!” he said gleefully.  And, whilst they ate their food, he showed her the new design.  “Nice high neck and very long sleeves,” he said smugly.

 

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Tauriel.  “What have you done, Thorin?  She’ll look like some kind of middle-aged frump!”

 

Thorin felt very put out.  “Well, I wish you had been a bit more specific before you sent me up the hill to change her mind,” he said grumpily.  “I thought this is what you wanted.”

 

“Well,” his wife sighed, “there’s no reason why a bride shouldn’t look glamorous on her wedding day.  A low bodice, for instance, is no bad thing, providing it’s not too low…….But, of course,” she mused, “I could design a gown that incorporates both ideas – both the daring and the modest.  She could have a sleeveless gown with a lowish neckline – but then we could cover it up with a sort of long-sleeved, high necked jacket made of a pretty gauze, like this.”  And she held up a length from one of her samples.

 

Thorin began to clear away the dishes and carried them out into the kitchen.

 

“But what’s the use,” he said over his shoulder, “of cutting it low and then covering it up?  Seems to defeat the object of the exercise, if you ask me.”

 

Tauriel grinned.  “Well,” she said, “it’s amazing how attractive something can be if you sort of cover things up.”

 

Thorin shook his head.  He just wasn’t on a woman’s wave-length.

 

Tauriel’s smile widened.  “Do the washing-up, my love, and I’ll try to show you,” she said.

 

And so, Thorin did the washing-up and, just as he was stacking the last plate, she called his name.  He went to the kitchen door and there she was, standing on the far side of the room.  And he froze in the doorway.

 

She was naked except for a long piece of filmy gauze wrapped about her.  It was knotted like a bath towel just above her breasts and fell in a graceful swathe to the floor.  One moment, the flimsy material seemed to hide everything, the next moment he caught flashes of what lay beneath.  Slowly, she started to walk towards him and the gauze floated about her like a white mist.  When she was standing only inches from him, Thorin realised that he was holding his breath.  He exhaled on a long, slow sigh.  “I see what you mean,” he muttered huskily.

 

But then he reached out and undid the knot.  “However,” he said, “I prefer you this way.”  And he let the material fall in a whispering slither to the floor.

 

As he picked her up in his arms, Tauriel giggled into his neck.  “Be careful not to trample on my samples with those big boots of yours,” she said.  “Perhaps you should take them off.”

 

But, ignoring her, he swept her off to the bedroom.  “What makes you think I’ve got time to take my boots off?” he said, before closing the door.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thorin arranged the double wedding as efficiently as he had organised the games.  A silk pavilion was set up in one field for the ceremony alongside another fitted out for a great banquet and another arranged for music and dancing afterwards.  In a neighbouring field, yet more small pavilions were erected to house those who wanted to stay overnight.  Large amounts of food and wine were brought to the forge and then this was redistributed amongst the many willing helpers who had agreed to do the cooking and the cake-making.  Thorin discovered that he and Tauriel had many friends.

 

The day before the wedding, Thorin rode down to the harbour with a string of horses in tow.  As he waited on the dock in the golden glow of an autumnal evening, a great, gilded barge came into view, rowed by elves who sang as they came.  Elrond had travelled on horseback part of the way and Gandalf had come down to the coast from his home in the hills.  Both had met up in Thranduil’s mansion and now these three, together with Legolas and Gimli, were travelling the rest of the way in Thranduil’s painted and stately barge.  Typical, grinned Thorin to himself as he watched its approach.  It was beautifully and elaborately carved and the lovely singing floated to his ears across the water.  Trust Thranduil to arrive in style, he thought.

 

Bilbo and Frodo, who were standing at his shoulder, laughed as well.  “I know what you’re thinking, Thorin,” chuckled Bilbo, “so you don’t have to say it.”

 

And when the party disembarked, they mounted on the horses, along with Thorin and his hobbit friends; and then they were joined by the troop of elves from the outpost and by those who had manned the barge.  These last were elves from Mirkwood and Rivendell and they sauntered up the hill, laughing and talking merrily in the wake of the horsemen.

 

When they passed by Lithin’s treehouse, he and Challis also came out to join them and soon a huge company, along with the elves from the tree houses below the forge, were ascending the hill to Thorin’s home.

 

Elrond, as the most honoured elf, stayed in Thorin’s guest suite whilst Thranduil had been allotted a fine room in Poppy’s manor, as was Gandalf.  There had been a bit of an argument over who should house the King of Mirkwood, but Poppy, who had a certain arrogance herself and loved playing lady of the manor, was only too willing to take him on.  “He doesn’t intimidate me,” she laughed.

 

Legolas and Gimli found that bedrooms had been prepared for them in Arion’s cottage, Beren put up his parents in his new home and the two hobbits were more than happy to sleep in Thorin’s stable on the mattresses vacated by Beren and Rosie.  The two brides made up beds for themselves in front of Thorin’s fire.  They would be dressed by Poppy and Tauriel on the following day, away from the inquisitive eyes of their bridegrooms, and they were looking forward to giggling away their time together that coming night.

 

Other friends and neighbours flocked from far and wide and, by the time that night fell, a great host of bridal guests were gathered together.  They sat around camp-fires and a simple supper of bread, cheese, roasted meats, salads and fruit was offered and harps and other instruments were produced for the entertainment of the company.  Thorin was, once again, congratulated and thanked for his organisational skills.

 

At last, everyone began to drift away to their beds.  “Come on, Thranduil,” said Poppy, linking her arm in his in what he privately thought was an over-familiar manner, “let’s get you all tucked up.  You’ll need your beauty sleep.”  He raised an eyebrow in his typically superior manner but Poppy didn’t seem to notice and she dragged him away to the manor house.  Seeing his daughter take control, Thorin let out a gleeful laugh.  “I think that our Poppy has got the measure of my favourite elf,” he said to Tauriel, and this put him in a very good mood for the rest of the night.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, they were all up early at the forge to have breakfast and then Poppy arrived and she and Tauriel chased the men away so that they could set about the important task of making the girls look beautiful.

 

Thorin, the hobbits and Elrond drifted down to the pavilions and found numerous things that required attention and kept them busy for the rest of the morning.  Half an hour before the ceremony, the wedding tent was pretty packed.  Thorin looked around feeling very pleased with the beauty of the silken pavilion, decorated as it was with innumerable flowers.  Suddenly, Tauriel was at his side, dressed in her lovely gown but looking very anxious.  “Come outside,” she whispered.  “It’s Rosie.”

 

Thorin hurried with her back to the forge and found Poppy and Mary Sue hovering in the main room looking equally upset.  “She’s got cold feet,” wailed Poppy.  “She’s locked herself in your bedroom and she won’t come out.”

 

Thorin’s heart sank but he turned to the three women and said: “Go and sit down quietly and take deep breaths.  I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Then he went to the bedroom door, knocked softly and said: “It’s me, your grandfather.  Just let me in for five minutes, Rosie.  No-one else is with me.”  There was a long pause and then she opened the door.

 

Thorin stepped into the room and assessed the situation.  Rosie’s face was stained with tears, she was in her underskirt and the beautiful dress, made by her mother, was hanging on the back of the door.  He took her hand gently and sat down with her on the edge of the bed.  “Why all these tears, Rosie,” he said quietly.  “This is supposed to be a happy day.”

 

She lay her head on his shoulder and started crying again.  “I’m frightened,” she said.

 

Thorin was startled.  “Frightened?” he said.  “What have you got to be frightened about?”

 

She was silent for a moment and then she whispered: “The wedding night.”

 

For a moment, Thorin didn’t understand what she was implying.  But, finally, he took a stab at what she meant.

 

“Are you saying that you haven’t slept with each other yet?”

 

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

 

“But,” said Thorin, “you’ve been sharing the stables for weeks, ever since you became betrothed.”

 

“I know,” she said, in an even fainter whisper, “but all we’ve done is hold hands across the gap between the two mattresses.”

 

He patted her in a reassuring manner.  “There’s no compulsion upon betrothed couples to be intimate, you know.  Some decide to make up the double bed like me and Tauriel or your aunt Rose and Telbarad.  But, others don’t, like your mother and father.”

 

She looked surprised.  “So, mother and father were chaste?  I didn’t know,” she said.  And Thorin wondered if he weren’t being a bit free with other people’s personal details.  But he soldiered on.

 

“Well, I think a lot of it was to do with your father being terrified of me,” he said with a laugh.  And Rosie began to giggle too.

 

“And then there’s your uncle Arion,” he continued, and she looked up with interest.  “Now, my son was a weird one.  Such a prude. He nearly fell out with his mother and Rose because he didn’t approve of Rose and Telbarad making up the double bed.  But, when it came to his own love-life with Mary Sue, he was in bed with her as quick as lightning.  And me, well, I’m just a hypocrite.”  And Rosie looked even more interested.

 

“In what way, grandfather?” she asked.

 

“Well, I slept with your grandmother at the earliest opportunity but felt really unhappy about Rose doing the same with Telbarad.  She really read me the riot act, let me tell you!”  And he roared with laughter again.

 

“And so,” he continued, “everyone’s different.  So, no worries there.”

 

But, when she continued to look glum, he said: “So, tell me, what are you afraid of?”

 

Again, she paused.  Then, struggling to find the words, she finally said, “I’m afraid of doing it wrong and then Beren might not love me any more. I’m just so ignorant, you see.”

 

Thorin smiled gently at her.  “But we were all ignorant the first time, Rosie, and we muddled through together.”

 

Rosie snorted.  “Well, from what I’ve heard, I can’t imagine you ‘muddling through’, grandfather.  Stop trying to make me feel better.”

 

“You can believe it or not, Rosie,” said Thorin, thinking that his reputation sometimes worked against him, “but I was amazingly ignorant and clumsy the first time.  Why your grandmother decided to stick with such an oaf I’ll never know………unless it was because she loved me.”

 

Rosie thought this through for a few minutes and then she said: “And Beren loves me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And I love Beren.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And so everything will be fine and I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Rosie took a deep breath.  “So, why are we sitting here wasting time when I should be getting dressed?”

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Thorin, and he gave her a kiss.

 

.o00o.

 

From that moment onwards, the wedding ran surprisingly smoothly.  Both the brides looked beautiful; Tauriel, Poppy and Challis, as the three matrons-in-attendance, also looked quite stunning and flung handfuls of pink and white rose petals before, around and over the brides like there was no tomorrow; the ceremony was very moving and there was a lot of sniffing and eye dabbing; the food was delicious and plentiful; the music and the dancing was enjoyed by all.  And before people had time to realise that the fun was nearly over, the huge harvest moon began to rise on one side of the evening sky, whilst the sun went down on the other, and it was time for both happy couples to ride away on their honeymoons.

 

Arion and Mary Sue were using one of the tree houses down by the harbour and, a bit further away, Rosie and Beren had arranged to borrow Bilbo’s wooden shack whilst the two hobbits stayed for the week with Thorin and Tauriel.

 

“And here’s a tip, Beren,” Thorin whispered to the new bridegroom, “take her for a picnic on the beach every day.  It’s deserted.  Absolutely secluded.  My recommendation.”

 

And then, to much cheering and waving, the four of them rode off into the sunset.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“That was lovely, Tauriel,” said Thorin as she closed the laptop.  “I really enjoyed that.”  He sighed.  “Do you remember our first time?”_

_She grinned and said, “Yes.”_

_“Stop laughing at me, Tauriel,” he said.  “I did my best.”_

_“I know, my love,” she whispered.  “And it was wonderful.”_

_“Really?” he said, looking quite pleased._

_“Yes, really.”_

_And she took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.  “But,” she added, “perhaps you could do with a bit more practice.”_

_And, as someone who believed that you could never get enough practice in anything, Thorin found that he had to agree.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thranduil Takes Revenge. We're still at the wedding and Thranduil has brooded his way through the day. With the help of a magic potion, he decides to take revenge on Thorin whilst, at the same time, gaining his heart's desire.


	40. Thranduil Takes Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, dear readers, was everything forgiven and forgotten after Thranduil finished up in that muddy puddle? I think not. And there’s more than a muddy puddle that comes between him and Thorin. And so, when Thranduil finds out about the laptop the day after the wedding, will he use it to get his own back on our hero? Will Tauriel be a pawn in his game? And what sort of revenge will he take?
> 
>  
> 
> This episode isn't the end of it all because repercussions echo on into the following chapter.

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thranduil Takes Revenge

 

Pt I

 

“And so you see,” said Lostwithiel, as he entertained Thranduil and Gandalf to breakfast the day after the wedding, “since our author is no longer writing stories about us, we have discovered that we can write them about ourselves.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed.  “Are you telling me that, whoever gets hold of this laptop and types out a story can make anything happen to us?”

 

“That’s right,” said the elf lord brightly, pleased that, for a change, he commanded the entire attention of the King of Mirkwood.

 

“So,” said Gandalf, “the wedding was made up by one of you?  Who wrote it, if I may ask?”

 

“Tauriel,” repled Lostwithiel.  “And jolly nice I thought it was too, don’t you think?”

 

The wizard smiled.  “I thought it must have been her.  A lot of hanky panky with Thorin and a very charming description of the whole event, all in all.”

 

The elf laughed and turned to Thranduil.  “Lucky it wasn’t Arion who wrote it otherwise you and your son wouldn’t have been invited.  He still remembers that stay in Mirkwood when he was a child.”

 

Thranduil gave him an icy stare and, realising he had taken a misstep, Lostwithiel hastened to add: “But, of course, he’s forgiven you both now.”

 

“How very kind of him,” said the king in cutting tones.  “But, are you saying that the outcome of all those sporting events the other week was decided by the writer?”

 

“Beren?  Yes.”

 

“And so Beren made his favourites win and his not-so-favourites lose?”

 

The elf lord could see where this line of questioning was leading and suddenly felt backed into a corner.

 

“Well – um – sort of.”

 

“Sort of?” queried Thranduil with a chilling stare.

 

“Yes - well – um – it’s the laptop, you see.  Sometimes it seems to have a mind of its own and then we have to follow where it leads us.”

 

“This sounds like dangerous magic to me,” put in Gandalf with a serious expression on his face.  “Who knows what the outcome will be once you start typing?”

 

“But, we don’t have much choice, do we,” said ‘Thiel, “if we want our lives to continue.  We’ve got to take a chance as to where the stories go.  It’s like real life, wouldn’t you say, where you have no real control but just have to take what happens to you on the chin.”

 

“Perhaps,” said Gandalf.  “But don’t ever ask me to write one.  It strikes me that the laptop is a very dangerous weapon.”  And the wizard was still looking worried when he set out for home later that morning.

 

“Will you be leaving soon?” Lostwithiel asked the king politely.  He really wanted his home back again.

 

“In a few days,” said Thranduil with a vague wave of his hand.

 

It was strange, thought the elf lord, that, when he was younger and lived in Mirkwood, Thranduil had been as a father to him after his own parents had died.  But, now he had new allegiances – his wife, for a start, who was only half-elven, and her father, a dwarf; and he saw the world in a different way – and it wasn’t Thranduil’s way.  A gap was opening up between him and the king and it made him feel uncomfortable.

 

Poppy came in, then, from her kitchen duties.   “Ah, there you are Thranduil,” she said.  “What shall you and me do today, then?”

 

Much to Lostwithiel’s amusement, he saw the king look momentarily horrified.  But he recovered quickly and gave a courteous bow.  “I was thinking of visiting Thorin and Tauriel,” he said, “But I shall certainly seek out your company when I return.”

 

“Very likely, I don’t think,” chuckled Lostwithiel after Thranduil had made his exit from the room.

 

“Pardon?” said Poppy.

 

“Nothing, my love,” her husband replied.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil made his way thoughtfully up the path to the forge.  He had no intention of visiting the couple whilst they were at home and so he sat down in the shade of some nearby trees and waited.  Soon, he saw them both come out of the house and make their way to the neighbouring field where he assumed they would help with dismantling the wedding pavilions.  Then he slipped into the house and looked around for the laptop.

 

He didn’t have to search far because it was lying in open view on the dining table.  The king sat down, pulled it to him, opened it and, after thinking for a moment, typed out the heading:

 

Thranduil Takes Revenge

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, but now only king in name, idly turned the gold-edged wedding invitation in his hand as he gazed around his elegant dining hall.  Did he want to go?  Probably not.  But it would appear that everyone was going, including his son, and it would look churlish if he did not attend.  And, after the tumble that Thorin had given him in a muddy puddle at the recent sports event, it might even make him look like a bad loser.

 

In fact, Thorin’s victory still gnawed away at him and, although he had courteously acknowledged the dwarf’s superior skills, the outcome of the fight continued to rankle.  It had been on the tip of his tongue to accuse the dwarf of cheating but he knew that this was not so:  it was a fight and Thorin had skilfully manoeuvred him into a position where, just as he thought he was on the verge of victory, he became careless and had lost to a big boot thrust in his way.  But, Thranduil of Mirkwood – considered one of the greatest fighters of his age – had lost to a DWARF!  It was very hard to bear.  And the fact that the invitation was from Thorin was the major reason why he found acceptance a bit difficult.

 

Ever since that wretched dwarf had been taken captive in Mirkwood and had been a guest in his dungeons, all those years ago, his life had changed: and it had changed for the worse.  Thorin had stirred up the dragon, Smaug, and the subsequent events had resulted in the loss of many of his troops.  Up to that point, he had always taken an isolationist stance: he left the world alone and the world left him alone.  But he had somehow been dragged into the dwarf’s fight and, although he had gained much in gold, and had even been given the fabulous necklace of Girion, he had also lost so much too.  And not just his soldiers in battle.

 

He had lost Tauriel, for a start.  And he had lost her to the dwarf.

 

Tauriel was his very effective captain of the guard and she had been a part of his life for a long time.  After his wife had died, she had been there, a comforting presence.  And he had wondered if he loved her.  He had a young son in need of a mother and they had spoken together.  But, when it became obvious that she didn’t love HIM, he had backed off, not acknowledging his feelings for her because it made him feel like such a loser.  Instead, he kept her close, enjoying her company and friendship and believing that, one day, she would want him as he wanted her.

 

That day had never arrived.  Instead, she had come to him and asked for his permission to leave his service – for permission to marry that dwarf!  He had been astounded and he still remembered his revulsion and the way that the gorge had risen in his throat.  But he had let her go because there had been no alternative.

 

After that, he had experienced one moment of triumph at the Grey Havens when Tauriel had argued so badly with Thorin after attending a banquet at his mansion there, that the dwarf had abandoned her and she had joined his company as they had returned to Mirkwood.  He had hoped that she would then turn to him but, instead, she had remained behind as they had passed through Rivendell.  “I carry his child,” she had said.  “He loves me and, in the end, I know he will come.”  News of her pregnancy had turned his stomach once more.  But she had been right and Thorin had come for her.

 

The child had not been a monster: in fact, he had been very beautiful and Thranduil got to see him as the family had travelled through Mirkwood a few years later.  Much to his annoyance, Tauriel appeared to be very happy and, in a petty moment of retaliation, he and his son, Legolas, had acted in such a provocative way that not only Thorin but also his son and his adopted daughter, Rose, had turned on them - and two children and a dwarf had won against a whole troop of elves!

 

Tauriel was not the only person that dwarf had stolen from him, either.  He had sent Lostwithiel, a favourite elf who had been almost like a second son, to be a representative of his in Ered Luin.  And he had not only volunteered to be one of Tauriel’s soldiers up at her outpost but had become a close friend of Thorin, too.  And if that was unbelievable, then the whole situation became even more bizarre when he had finished up marrying Thorin’s half-elf/half-dwarf daughter.  Jaw-dropping, really.  And Beren, the son of two more elves, Lithin and Challis, was about to marry Thorin’s granddaughter and it was to this wedding that he had been invited.  It was as if dwarves were polluting the whole elven race.

 

And one more dwarf-related thing – although this could not be attributed directly to Thorin, even if there were a connection - but Gimli, the son of one of Thorin’s original company, was now in a close relationship with his son, Legolas.  And Thranduil looked down the table to where the two of them sat in a huddle together.  He didn’t like to think too hard about their friendship but the aspect that he did think about was the way that Gimli had affected his son’s attitudes.  He was no longer the same lad who had set out to join the Fellowship.  He would no longer listen to his father’s point of view and the son strove constantly to change the attitudes of the father.   Thranduil found this very disturbing.

 

Well, he would go to this wedding and he would be on the watch for opportunities.  One day he would get his own back.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil really liked to make an entrance – it caught people on the back foot.  He had thoroughly enjoyed his arrival at the sports event and his lofty throne had meant that he could look down on Thorin.  Making that dwarf feel inadequate was always an enjoyable experience.

 

And, for the wedding, he had got out his magnificent barge – a vessel made for such occasions – and had sailed into the harbour with the utmost beauty and elegance whilst Thorin waited like a lackey for them with a string of horses.  He had been housed with Lostwithiel and Thorin’s daughter, Poppy.  True, it was a fine house, and quite aesthetically pleasing – Poppy’s taste, apparently – and this surprised him, coming as it did from the daughter of a dwarf.  Like her brother, she was very good-looking – he had half expected her to have a beard – but she had Lostwithiel wound tight around her little finger, which annoyed him, and her jocular familiarity, similar to Gimli’s, was very irritating.  If he tried his special glacial look on her – a look that was meant to cow – she just laughed.

 

He had to admit that Thorin was a master at organising things: he would have made someone a good steward - but such skills were surely beneath a king!  The sports event had gone off very smoothly and so did the wedding.  There were enough flowers and greenery to please any elf and a huge range of food at the banquet to suit all tastes.  He sat at the high table with the families of the brides and grooms and with the important guests like Elrond and Gandalf.  Well, at least he had those two to talk with.  But Elrond, for some obscure reason, spent a lot of his time talking with Thorin (not another one who had fallen under his spell?) and Gandalf just seemed to be amused for much of the time and appeared to watch him with a twinkle in his eye.  Well, it would have been nice if he had shared the joke!

 

He finally managed to catch the eye of Tauriel who was sitting opposite him.  She was looking extraordinarily lovely and her years of living with Thorin and bearing him two children had not diminished her beauty.  He tried not to think of the two of them in bed together because the image was just too appalling.

 

“This must be a very happy day for you, Tauriel, my dear,” he said.  And she nodded and smiled that heart-stopping smile of hers.

 

“Your son so handsome and your granddaughter so beautiful.  And the mother and grandmother even more beautiful,” he flattered.  “Just think of the beautiful children we could have made together,Tauriel.”

 

“Now, stop being naughty, Thranduil,” Tauriel laughed.  “I’ve been perfectly happy making beautiful children with Thorin.”

 

The elf king sighed inwardly.  Why had he finished up losing her?  She was one of the few women that he felt perfectly relaxed with, one of the few elves of either sex that he felt he could laugh and talk with.  And he wanted so much to punish Thorin for taking her away from him.

 

“What a shame that you lost her,” said a voice in his ear, surprisingly echoing his own thoughts.  And, Olorien, an elf from Mirkwood, sat down next to him.   He was tall and dark with rather harsh features.

 

“Are my thoughts so obvious?” Thranduil asked.

 

“They are to those who know and love you,” Olorien replied.  “Sadly, from what I can make out, she will always love Thorin – unless you cheat a bit, of course.”

 

Thranduil was all ears.  The word “cheat” had provoked an image of the unfair way in which his match with Thorin had finished and his eyes flashed across the table to where Thorin was laughing with Elrond.  Olorien saw the look.  “Pay-back time?” he asked.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“So,” murmured Thranduil, “what do you suggest?”

 

“I’m thinking along the lines of a love philtre,” Olorien whispered back.

 

“Hah!” snorted Thranduil with a cynical twist to his mouth.  “I don’t exactly carry one of those in my back pocket.”

 

“Ah, yes, but I do,” smirked the dark elf lord.  And he slipped a small phial into Thranduil’s hand.

 

I might have known, thought the king to himself.  Olorien was always busy in his laboratory, creating interesting potions although Thranduil had never visited to find out what these potions might be.  “Oh, this and that,” the elf lord had told him once.  “Keeps me out of mischief.”

 

More likely than not, his experiments involved him IN mischief, Thranduil had thought at the time.

 

“And you might need this, too,” Olorien continued.  “It’s a sleeping draught.  It’s slow-acting – not suspicious in any way.  Just slip it into Thorin’s wine and people will think he’s drunk.”  And he passed another small, glass bottle to his king.

 

.o00o.

 

“And so,” said Thranduil, “if you would be so kind as to continue to accommodate me, I would like to stay here for a few more days.”

 

Lostwithiel’s heart sank.  The wedding had been very tiring and he had been looking forward to a rest.  But, he couldn’t deny the elf who had once been his king.  “Of course, you’re very welcome,” he said.

 

Thus, Thranduil stayed on at the manor whilst his companions and retainers who had manned the barge, continued to camp out on the wedding field, ready to row him back when the time came.  Meanwhile, Gimli and Legolas decided to spend a few days with Elrond and set out on horseback.  Good, no-one to interfere with my plans, thought the elven king.  And he held up the love philtre to the light.  What an exquisite blue, he mused.  But, who cares about the colour as long as it does the job?

 

The following day, the Mirkwood elves invited everyone to a farewell picnic feast in return for all the effort that had been made on their behalf.  They had prepared some marvellous delicacies and had brought up bottles of choice wine from the barge.

 

It was a lovely, golden afternoon and the party was a relaxed and happy one.  Thranduil made sure that Thorin was supplied with wine and eventually managed to slip the sleeping draught into one of his glasses.  Tauriel, who was seated on the ground under a shady tree with the elegantly lounging Thranduil, rolled her eyes as her husband grew more lethargic.  “Well,” laughed the king, “this wine is famous for its potency.”  And he offered Tauriel another cup into which he had poured the love potion.

 

Tauriel was sitting with her back to a tree whilst Thranduil rested, propped up on one elbow, on the grass.  “Come down and join me,” he said seductively and the beautiful elf smiled and stretched herself out on the grass next to him.

 

“How did I ever lose you?” murmured the king.

 

“Ah, yes,” laughed Tauriel in response.  “But did you ever have me in the first place?”

 

Thranduil searched her face and, then, their eyes met and locked.  “I thought I did – once.  I loved you, you know.”

 

Tauriel felt as if she were swimming in his eyes.  She wanted to pull away and yet she couldn’t.  “Did you?” she asked softly.

 

“Yes, I wanted to marry you.  You knew that.”  And his melodic voice grew softer.

 

“I thought you wanted to marry me for your son’s sake.”

 

“No, it was for your sake and for my sake – I loved you, I wanted you – and I still love you.  Did you never love me?”

 

His silken voice seemed to be winding its way around her senses and Tauriel felt confused. “Perhaps – I don’t know.”

 

“And now?”

 

She was about to laugh and profess her love for Thorin but found she couldn’t.  He touched her hair gently and ran his long fingers through its shining strands.  “What beautiful hair,” he said.  “And what beautiful lips,” he added, running his thumb across them.  “I love everything about you.  Do not you love me just a little?”

 

She was mesmerised and suddenly she felt that Thranduil was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.  Why hadn’t she realised that before?  Thorin’s beauty paled in comparison.

 

“Perhaps I do love you,” she said wonderingly, gazing at his fine, pale features.

 

“Then,” he said, “if that is so, we must run away together.”

 

It was as if her eyes and ears were opened to the truth of what he said.  Yes, that was the obvious thing to do because she suddenly couldn’t bear to be parted from him.  She touched his cheek.  “We must go now – immediately – before he wakes up,” she said urgently, nodding towards Thorin who had fallen asleep with his head on the table.

 

And Thranduil stood up and helped her to her feet and then turned to his companions.  “It is time for our departure,” he said.  And he thanked Lostwithiel and Poppy for their hospitality.

 

“I shall escort Thranduil to the harbour,” said Tauriel.  And her daughter and son-in-law were so tired that they were grateful that she had taken on this duty.  Thranduil rode on the borrowed horse whilst the rest walked behind him.  But he took Tauriel up in front of him.  “She can ride it home,” he said in explanation to Lostwithiel.

 

And so they rode together down the hill in the late afternoon and they gazed into each other’s eyes until Tauriel felt that she never wanted the journey to end.  And when they reached the harbour, Thranduil dismounted and, placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her down.  Then he led her on board the barge and seated her on one of the elegant chairs in the prow.  And, sitting next to her, the king announced to his companions that Tauriel would be coming with them.  The elves glanced at each other and wondered but none dared gainsay him.

 

The barge moved smoothly away from the pier and was rowed with all speed down the coast until they reached Thranduil’s home.  Tauriel had begun to feel a strange languor possess her and, when they disembarked, the king picked her up in his arms and carried her up the hill to his palace and into his private rooms.  Tauriel, in a dreamy daze, gave no thought for the morrow.  But Thranduil had worked it all out.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

In his mind, he had decided that, once Thorin awoke and realised where Tauriel had gone, he would never want her back.  His pride was too great.  And, once Tauriel had spent the night with him, then her response would be based on a number of things.  Either she would be too ashamed to return to Thorin, or, he would like to think, his love-making would doubtless be a revelation to her, exposing the crudity of her dwarven husband, so that she would never want to go back to him.  He was smugly confident in his skills and any thoughts that Thorin could be tender or gentle or imaginative in bed were immediately dismissed.  Tauriel would stay with him forever and he would cherish her, making sure that she lacked for nothing.

 

He placed her gently on his bed where she lay sleepily, her eyes half-closed.  Thranduil removed his surcoat and draped it over a chair and then he returned to Tauriel and began to unbutton her dress.  “I love you,” he whispered.

 

Suddenly her eyes opened in a dazed confusion and they were filled, not with love, but with fear.

 

_(Wait, wait, thought Thranduil.  I didn’t mean to type that, not that bit about fear.  And he tried to delete the last sentence but he found, strangely, that he couldn’t.  Every time he scrubbed it, the sentence would reappear.  Then he remembered Lostwithiel’s words: the laptop had a mind of its own and, according to this version, Tauriel wasn’t in love with him but was afraid of him._

_He drew in a deep breath and certain truths came to him all at once.  What on earth are you doing, he said to himself?  Was this the sort of revenge that a great king took upon someone who wasn’t even a foe but just someone whom he vaguely disliked?  Was this the sort of way to treat a woman whom he professed to love?  Suddenly, the whole story seemed to crumble around him and he felt truly shaken.  This narrative said so much about himself and his attitudes.  No wonder his son and Gimli regularly lectured him on the proper way to behave.  And now he was about to lose the only woman who meant anything to him.  But, that was his punishment.  He had lost her long ago._

_Then, Thranduil returned to the keyboard and let the laptop guide him.)_

 

.o00o.

 

Back at the forge, Poppy and Lostwithiel had been trying to wake up Thorin ever since the elven company had departed.  When they couldn’t rouse him, Lostwithiel eventually guessed the truth: “Someone must have drugged him,” he said and felt very confused.  In the end, he got a bucket of water and threw it over Thorin and he finally roused.  As Poppy wiped her father’s face with a towel, the elf told the groggy dwarf of his suspicions.  “But I can’t imagine why,” he said.

 

“Where’s Tauriel?” Thorin asked, trying to shake the fog from his mind.

 

“She rode down to the harbour with Thranduil.”  And then he paused, before saying.  “They shared the same horse.”

 

“Oh my goodness!” shrieked Poppy.  “My mother’s run off with the elf king!”

 

Thorin staggered to his feet and rubbed his forehead.  “Don’t be silly, Poppy,” he growled.  “You should know your mother by now.  She’s been abducted.”

 

“Umm,” said Lostwithiel politely.  “She wasn’t shouting and screaming, Thorin.  They were looking at each other as if they were – umm – very close friends.”  And he remembered his unease and was angry with himself that he hadn’t gone with them.

 

“Well, if she wasn’t shouting and screaming then she was drugged too,” snapped Thorin.

 

“And all over a muddy puddle,” said Lostwithiel in amazement.

 

“It’s over more than a muddy puddle,” said the dwarf.  “Things run pretty deep between us and it’s been going on for years.”

 

Then with the elf’s help, he saddled his horse and thundered away down the hill in pursuit of the company.  But, when he got to the harbour, the barge had already pulled away and was disappearing out of sight.  “Boat or horse?” he wondered.  “Let’s see which is faster.”  And he set out along the coast.

 

.o00o.

 

The boat was faster and Thorin anxiously rode into the courtyard of the mansion.  Thranduil’s retainers came out to meet him.  Should they hold him prisoner, they wondered?  But they looked at each other uneasily and merely took his horse away to the stable.  “Leave it saddled,” snapped the dwarf.

 

He leaped up the stairs of the sweeping staircase two at a time and flung open the door of Thranduil’s apartments.  There he found the elven king slumped in a chair, drinking heavily, and Tauriel lying half-asleep on his bed, dressed only in her shift.

 

“So, you want her back, Thorin, even now?” said Thranduil with a sneer.  “Even after this?”  And he gestured to the bed.

 

Thorin was across the room in a flash and his hand was at Thranduil’s throat.  “What have you done to her, elf?” he snarled.

 

“What do you think, dwarf?” the king retorted with a leer. “This is the woman I love – the woman I have always loved.”  And Thorin’s hand gripped tighter.

 

“Yes, I want her back.  She is my beloved wife.  I would always want her back,” growled the dwarf, baring his teeth.  “You know nothing of love or you would not have treated her this way.”

 

Tauriel pushed herself slowly up from the bed, clutching her head and groaning.  “Take me home, Thorin,” she said.

 

“Have you no shame, woman?” the king asked contemptuously.  “After what happened tonight, you should choose to stay here with me.”

 

“It is you who should feel shame,” said Tauriel, swaying slightly as she tried to get up from the bed.  And Thorin threw the elf king from him and, hastening to his wife’s side, he took her in his arms.  But Tauriel pushed him away and angrily approached Thranduil.  “My mind’s a blur,” she said.  “What did you give me?  And what did you do?”

 

Thranduil poured himself another glass of wine and drunkenly raised it to his lips.  He had lost and he decided to confess.  “I gave you a love philtre,” he said. “Otherwise, I did nothing.  My…..conscience…..stopped me at the last moment.”  And he drained his cup.  “Stupid, I know.”  And he laughed.

 

“Then why this charade?” faltered Tauriel, gesturing to the bed and her shift.

 

“Because I love you,” he said, “and because I hoped that I could trick you into staying and Thorin into abandoning you.”

 

Thorin looked at him and his anger drained away.  Thranduil sat there in his chair, drunk and sad and lonely.  And Thorin had the one thing that the elf king wanted.  He suddenly felt very lucky.  He took off his cloak and gently wrapped it around his wife.  Then he picked her up and strode with her from the room.  Thranduil buried his head in his hands as he heard their horse gallop away.

 

.o00o.

 

_(Thranduil stopped typing and sighed.  If you make a mess of things then you have to pay for it.  He wondered how long it would take for Tauriel to speak to him again – if ever.  Be thankful for small mercies, he consoled himself.  You have a wonderful son and a group of faithful companions - you even have Gimli.  And the thought made him laugh.  Moreover, you have your arrogance to carry you through, he reminded himself.  And that has never let you down, even after three thousand years.  And he lifted his chin proudly and snapped the laptop closed.)_

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week’s story: Thorin and the Hobbit Hole in which we discover the consequences of Thranduil’s revenge.
> 
> And a PS: I'm just back from DoS and someone needs to tell Mr Jackson that he's got it wrong! The love triangle is between Tauriel, Thorin and Thranduil, not Tauriel, Kili and Legolas, LOL!


	41. Thorin and the Hobbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This follows on from the last episode, Thranduil’s Revenge, during which Thranduil, in a moment of folly, abducts Tauriel and Thorin has to come to the rescue. Thorin has behaved impeccably in response to this incident, keeping his jealousy and his temper under control. But, how long will this last? What have the couple got to say to each other when they get home? Will Tauriel want to speak to Thranduil ever again? And what are the knock-on effects of Thranduil’s action? I don’t think this story will end as my readers expect!
> 
>  
> 
> As one British comic put it: “There was enough said at our Edie’s wedding,” LOL!

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Hobbit Hole

 

Pt I

 

“You will NOT speak to Thranduil ever again,” said Thorin firmly to his wife across the dining room table.

 

“Is that an order?” responded Tauriel, looking annoyed.

 

“No,” said Thorin in what he thought was a reasonable voice.  “I’m offering sound advice.”

 

“I’ve known him a very, VERY long time,” snapped the elf, “and I always believe in kissing and making up after a dispute.”

 

“It’s the kissing that I object to,” snarled the dwarf, beginning to lose his temper.  “If you hadn’t kissed him so much, then perhaps he wouldn’t have abducted you.”

 

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?”  And the normally patient Tauriel began to get a bit bad-tempered too.

 

Thorin paused and glared at her, tempted to say “yes” but trying to bite his tongue.  His restraint served no good purpose because his wife read his answer in his silence.

 

“Yes, you do think it’s my fault, don’t you?” she gasped.  “You’re unbelievable!”

 

“Not as unbelievable as you,” her husband muttered in return.  “You kiss him, you flirt with him, you sit with him, you drink with him.  Is it surprising that he drops something in your glass and then abducts you?  What would have happened if I hadn’t come to your rescue?”

 

“Nothing!” she shouted.  “Don’t you understand, you stupid dwarf, that he is a friend – someone who has been a friend for centuries.  He would never have hurt me.”

 

“Ah, so,” shouted Thorin in response, “I needn’t have bothered then?  And you would have ridden back the next day and told me that it had all been a friendly, innocent sleep-over?  Are you naïve or what, Tauriel?  Of course he would have taken advantage of you.”

 

Tauriel drew in a deep breath and tried to control herself.  “I KNOW Thranduil and I KNOW he wouldn’t have done anything.  And he didn’t, did he?”

 

Thorin thought back to the moment when he had found her half-naked on Thranduil’s bed with the elf king in a near-drunken stupor beside her.  She was wrong to trust him and forgiveness was not an option.  He had rescued her from a pretty nasty situation and was she grateful?  No!  She just wanted to kiss and make up – not with her husband but with her abductor.  He would NEVER understand women.

 

The dwarf also drew in a deep breath.  “Why is it,” he asked as calmly as possible, “that every time we have anything to do with Thranduil, we always finish up having a row?”

 

“I don’t know,” replied the elf, unable to keep the sulkiness out of her voice.  “You tell me.”

 

It was perhaps just as well that their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door and Thorin found Bilbo standing on the threshold.

 

“Sounds like you’re having a row,” the hobbit said with equanimity.  “Can I referee?”

 

“If you weren’t a friend,” responded Thorin sharply, “I’d tell you to mind your own business.”

 

“But since I am a friend,” said Bilbo calmly, “then perhaps I can ask what – or who - it’s all about.”

 

“Thranduil,” snarled the dwarf.  “And I think enough has been said.”

 

“Well, if that’s the case,” smiled Bilbo, “then I could really do with a cup of tea after the walk up here….And the laptop would be nice too.  I want to write a story.”

 

“Goodness,” exclaimed Tauriel. “What about?”

 

“I want a hobbit hole built and so I suppose a story needs to be written about its construction,” he replied.

 

“A bit boring,” muttered Thorin, still glowering.  “How do you see it going?  ‘I chose a spot; I designed it; some elves built it; I moved in.’”

 

“I expect there will be more to my story than that,” replied Bilbo, helping himself to a cake from a plate that Tauriel had produced.    “Now, are you going to pass it over or not?”

 

Thorin scowled a bit more and then pushed the laptop across the table.  “Why not?” he said.

 

Indeed, why not?

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Bilbo sat quietly contemplating the keyboard and then he typed the title and began:

 

Thorin and the Hobbit Hole

 

“Why, of course he’ll dig you a hobbit hole, Bilbo – won’t you, Thorin?” said Tauriel as she turned to her husband.

 

“Will I?” asked the dwarf grumpily.

 

“Well, who better?  Dwarves know so much more about digging underground and mining and pit props and stuff like that than the elves.  And besides,” she said sweetly, running her hand down his arm, “You’re just so much stronger.  Have you ever seen such biceps?” she asked the hobbit and the hobbit had to agree that they looked as though they were made of iron.

 

“Hmm, I suppose there’s something in that,” said the dwarf, adopting his ‘I-think-I-am-superior-to-any-elf’ look.  “No stamina, that’s their problem.”  And he flexed his muscles and Tauriel and Bilbo duly admired them.

 

Bilbo had finally decided that he wanted to move out of his temporary wooden hut down by the harbour and into his very own hobbit hole.  He had chosen a site and it was at the top of the hill, quite close to Thorin and his family.  “It could be quite convenient,” he said, cheerfully. 

 

And Thorin hoped that he wouldn’t find it too convenient, especially as far as breakfast was concerned. You unload one lot, he thought to himself, and some more turn up.  On the other hand, he’d quite like to visit Bilbo for breakfast, because Bilbo’s breakfasts were the best!

 

“So,” said the hobbit, “if you wouldn’t mind digging out the actual hole – it won’t be too large – not as roomy as Bag End – then the elves can come in and line it and kit it out – you know, all the aesthetic stuff.”

 

“Are you saying I have no taste?” asked the dwarf.

 

“Erm, no, not exactly,” murmured Bilbo, looking as though he had been put on the spot.  “But, you know, each to his own.”

 

Thorin grinned.  “Relax, Bilbo.  I know my strengths – and my weaknesses.  Only teasing.”

 

And so it was, the very next day, after they had all examined the plans very closely, that Thorin started to dig.  His son, Arion, and his grandson-in-law, Beren, were back from their honeymoons and they and Lostwithiel came to help out a bit but only Arion had anywhere near Thorin’s stamina and Arion was still too busy canoodling with his new wife to want to spend much time digging out rocks from the hillside.  And so, Thorin mainly laboured alone, cheered on by delicious and constant offerings of food from Bilbo.  That helped, he had to admit.

 

It was a week later, when he thought that he was making pretty good progress, that an unexpected visitor turned up outside the hole.  Thorin, stripped to the waist, was deep inside the tunnel, supporting his most recent excavations with a series of props.  “Thorin!” he heard someone call.  And when he emerged, it was Legolas.

 

“Legolas!” he said sourly.  Somehow, at the moment, the son was still tainted by the actions of the father.  “What can I do for you?”

 

Legolas seemed embarrassed by Thorin’s near nakedness – elves tended to keep themselves modestly covered up – and turned his eyes away from the dwarf’s strapping and muscular body.  Thorin, feeling vaguely amused, gave him a moment and wiped the sweat from off his chest and under his arms with a convenient towel.  Then he swigged some water from a bottle.  And still the elf was silent, gazing at the ground.

 

“Well?” asked Thorin, sharply.  And then he wished he hadn’t sounded so mean because the elf suddenly sat on a nearby rock, buried his head in his hands and wept.

 

Thorin was stunned.  The impassive Legolas whose calm, aloof features, so similar to his father’s, seldom displayed any emotion, was actually crying.  It was Thorin’s turn to feel uncomfortable.  Finally, he took him by the arm and helped him to his feet.  “Come on, lad,” he said – and it seemed right to call him ‘lad’, even though the elf was older than the dwarf by hundreds of years.  “Come on,” he said.  “I think you could do with a drink.”  And he led him gently down to the forge where he sat him at the dining table and opened a bottle of wine.

 

Thorin only repeated his question after the elf had had the opportunity to down his glass.  “Well?”

 

“First,” said Legolas quietly, “I would like to apologise for my father’s behaviour when he abducted Tauriel.  If I had known, I – I …..”

 

“……you would have punched him on the nose and rescued her,” grinned Thorin.

 

“Yes,” said the elf seriously.  “Yes, I would have done.  Tauriel is very important to me.  She is the most important person in my life after – after….”

 

“….after your father,” finished Thorin.

 

“No, after Gimli,” the elf added unexpectedly.  And he buried his head in his hands again.  Finally, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.  “He is the dearest fellow,” he said.  “I have never had a friend like him and he means the world to me.”

 

Thorin wondered where this was going.  “Tell it in your own time,” he said.

 

“Well, when Gimli first met my father back in Middle-earth, I was worried that he would be intimidated.”  He laughed.  “Amazingly, he wasn’t.  My father amused him.  I think he saw him as a rather more arrogant version of me.  He spoke to him almost as if he WERE me, in fact, and, in an odd way, my father seemed to be amused by him in return.”

 

Thorin nodded.  He had seen the two interacting and he knew what Legolas was talking about.

 

“So, when we came here, we moved into my father’s palace and things continued as before – with one difference.  We didn’t like the way my father treated others. Especially you and your family.  We began to lecture him about his behaviour – and it even seemed to have some effect.”

 

“And?” Thorin asked.

 

“Well, my father only _seemed_ to take notice of us and our opinions.  But, then I became aware of the way he was turning on the charm with Gimli.  I often caught them chatting together in corners and suddenly Gimli was saying ‘your father says this’ and ‘your father thinks that’.  It was then I noticed that a small distance was opening up between us.”

 

“In what way?” asked Thorin, beginning to feel some concern.  

 

“If I argued with my father over anything, he seemed to take my father’s side.  And it began to get rather upsetting.  My father became even friendlier with him….and I found that odd too, because I’m sure he still dislikes dwarves – as you must know.”

 

“Or,” Thorin laughed, “perhaps he just doesn’t like me.”

 

“No, it’s more complicated than that,” said Legolas.  “Not only does he dislike dwarves, but he dislikes my – um – relationship with Gimli.  I’m sure he’s trying to drive a wedge between us.  I’ve tried to explain it to Gimli but he just won’t believe me.  And now things have come to a head.”  Thorin poured the elf another glass of wine and waited for him to continue.

 

“Father and I had a terrific row last night over you and Tauriel.  I was appalled when I found out what had happened and I condemned his behaviour in no uncertain terms.  I turned for support to Gimli and – you won’t believe this – he justified my father’s behaviour.  He said that love could drive a man to do all sorts of things – which I can just about accept – but then he went on to say that perhaps Tauriel should have married my father when it had been discussed years ago and that he would have been…….” Legolas paused for a moment and looked embarrassed.

 

“Go on,” urged Thorin stiffly.

 

“….that he would have been a better husband than you.  He even said that elves and dwarves were better off with their own kind.”  And, at that point, Legolas got up from the table and walked in an agitated fashion around the room.  “So, what on earth does that say about OUR relationship?”

 

Legolas stopped by the window and stared blindly out of it for a few minutes.  “I started rowing with Gimli then, and father just stood back and smiled in that unpleasant way he has.  In the end, I couldn’t stand it any longer and went off to my room – our room.  We’ve shared a room, you know, or the same bit of grass, ever since we first met each other – even when we didn’t like each other – all on that long tramp through Middle-earth during the War of the Ring and afterwards.  And I waited for Gimli to turn up so that we could talk about things without my father breathing down our necks – and – and – he just didn’t make an appearance.  I didn’t sleep.  This morning, when I couldn’t find him anywhere, I felt I had to talk with someone and I thought of you.”  And the good-looking elf prince turned around and looked at Thorin as if he were his last hope.

 

“Wouldn’t it be better if you talked with Tauriel?” said Thorin gently.  He could see how upset Legolas was but he didn’t understand how he could help.

 

“No,” said Legolas.  “She’s too close to my father.  In spite of what he did to her the other day, she’s very fond of him – you must know that.”

 

Yes, Thorin did know and it hurt.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thorin wished that Tauriel were at home.  He didn’t feel confident about sorting out the emotional problems of an elf lord.  But, Tauriel was down with Bilbo and a group of elves in the harbour area, helping him with the interior design of his hobbit hole.  And so, he bought some time by making a snack and then taking it outside where they could both eat in the sun.

 

“So,” he said as they finished.  “What do you see as your biggest problem?”

 

“My father,” said Legolas with a grimace.

 

“I can understand that,” laughed Thorin.  “He’s always been a problem to me too.”

 

“I’m sure he’s trying to break up my friendship with Gimli,” the elf continued.   “He has been so charming to him just recently that I think Gimli has been taken in by him.  He used to laugh at him and be brusque when he spoke to him but now he seems to hang on every word and back him in everything he says.  Even against me.  It’s a weird sort of infatuation and – and – I’m afraid I’m going to lose my best friend to my father.”  And, like a child, he buried his head on Thorin’s broad shoulder; and, like a parent, Thorin put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head comfortingly.

 

At that moment, a fine horse turned the corner into the yard and there was Thranduil with Gimli seated behind him, holding on grimly.  Various thoughts flashed through everyone’s mind!

 

Thorin: _That Gimli!  Would he never get over his fear of horses?  Gloin despaired of him when he was a child._

 

Thranduil: _What on earth is my son doing cuddling up to yet another dwarf?  This is becoming a ridiculous obsession._

 

Legolas:  _I don’t think he could be holding on to my father’s waist any tighter if he tried!  Let go of him, for goodness’ sake!_

 

Gimli:  _If you dare kiss him again, Thorin, I shall be off this horse quicker than you think and I shall punch both of you on the nose!_

 

Thorin (smiling inwardly and hugging Legolas even tighter):  _So, how does it feel, Thranduil, to find someone near and dear to you in the arms of a person you despise?_

 

Gimli and Thranduil: _And, for goodness’ sake, Thorin, put a shirt on!_

 

Gimli slid off the steed with surprising speed and agility for someone who was afraid of horses and came striding towards the seated pair.  Thranduil dismounted with his usual grace and stood holding the reins and frowning.

 

A smirking Thorin slowly let go of the elf with a great show of reluctance whilst Legolas got up and took a step forwards in the direction of his one-time friend.  “What are you doing here, Gimli?” he asked the dwarf hopefully.

 

“Well,” came the sharp response, “I was feeling so unhappy about our argument last night that I thought we needed to talk to each other before our relationship deteriorated further.  And when I discovered that you had disappeared off in a sulk, your father kindly offered to help me find you.  We guessed you’d be here – although why on earth you would want to seek a bit of sympathy from a bad-tempered grump of an ex-king is beyond our understanding!”

 

“Beyond ‘our’ understanding?  That sounds very intimate!” snapped Legolas in response.  But before he could get any further, Thorin rose nonchalantly to his feet and, with a studied insolence, said to Thranduil: “Get off my property, elf!  I’m surprised you have the effrontery to come anywhere near me after what you did to my wife. We never want to see you again.”

 

The elf king brought an elegant hand to his breast and gave Thorin the very slightest of bows.

 

“ _You_ may never want to see me again but I doubt that you can speak for Tauriel,” he said with his customary sneer.  “Where is she?  Let her decide whether she wants to be in my company or not.”

 

“Not here, I’m very glad to say,” Thorin replied smoothly.  “And even if there were a choice, I wouldn’t let her anywhere near you with a 10 foot pole.”

 

“Ah, yes,” came the silky response, “but what sort of a choice is there for Tauriel?  Would you deny her one?”

 

“Yes,” growled Thorin.  “As far as you’re concerned, she seems unable to make sensible decisions.  So, as her husband, I see fit to make them for her.”

 

“There,” whispered Gimli to Legolas, “I told you that Tauriel would be better off married to Thranduil.  Thorin’s too much of a control freak.”

 

“And you think my father isn’t?” asked the elf with a satirical lift of his eyebrow.  “I suggest that you know very little about my father.”

 

“You’re a wonder, Thranduil,” Thorin was saying.  “Why do you think you’re not exactly welcome here?  You drug my wife – at a wedding, no less – you drug me too, so that I pass out, you abduct her, you take her to your room and half-strip her – and then you get so drunk that you’re fortunately unable to take your plan through to its conclusion.”

 

“So that’s why you think nothing happened, Thorin?” said the elf lord coldly.  “Tauriel understands me better than you, I think.  And if she still wants to see me, then, I’m afraid your opinion has no value.”

 

“And Tauriel understands me, too.  And if I say that she won’t see you any more, then she won’t.”

 

“Won’t she?” said Tauriel.  And the two of them spun around to find Tauriel standing there with her hands on her hips and Bilbo lurking anxiously behind her.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

“Thorin!” she snapped and she hooked her head and walked into the house.  Her husband followed meekly after her.

 

“I am NOT going to have a row with you in public,” she continued, “and embarrass you in front of Thranduil, but you will absolutely stop telling me what to think and what to do.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think Thorin embarrasses that easily,” said Thranduil, coolly sauntering into the room.  Then he bowed courteously to Tauriel.  “Would you like me to stay whilst you sort this out?” he asked her.  And his tone implied that he thought that Thorin might be a danger to her if the argument got too heated.

 

Thorin was lost for words at the elf’s impertinence.  For a moment he stood there open-mouthed.  Then: “Get out of my house!” he snarled.

 

“ _Your_ house?” asked Thranduil in derisory tones.  “But surely another lives here too and should be involved in any decision making?”  And he gave Tauriel a graciously considerate smile.

 

Why did the elf king always make him feel like such a clod, wondered Thorin?  Surely Thranduil was the villain of the piece?  And yet, time and again, the dwarf felt caught out on the back foot.  He turned towards his wife with a questioning glance, but he already knew what she would say.

 

“He can stay, Thorin,” she said.  “This is something that involves the three of us and I want to resolve it once and for all.”  Her answer was logical but Thorin felt a sense of betrayal.

 

At that moment, Bilbo also slipped into the room and sat quietly in the corner.

 

“And how would you resolve things, Tauriel?” snapped her husband.  “Tell him that he is welcome to abduct you any time because it’s no real problem?  Or perhaps say that he will always be your friend no matter what?  Or tell me that I’m mean-spirited and lack understanding?  Which one, Tauriel?”

 

But, before she could reply, Bilbo spoke calmly from his corner.

 

“I’ve always thought,” he said, “that one way of ending an intractable argument in a satisfactory manner was to have a hand-to-hand fight.  Gets things off one’s chest, you know.”

 

They all turned and looked in surprise at the mild-mannered hobbit.

 

“Well, we fought only recently – and I won,” grunted Thorin.

 

“But that was during a civilised sports event,” Bilbo went on.  “This would be, I imagine, a no-holds-barred, knock-down fight.”

 

Thorin’s eyes glittered.  The opportunity to smash Thranduil to a pulp was a pleasing thought; but, as he opened his mouth to agree, Tauriel stepped forward.

 

“Sounds like a good idea,” she said, “except for one minor detail.”  And they all turned politely towards her.  “This is all about Thranduil’s abduction of me and my response to that abduction.  It is between the two of us and the fight should be between the two of us.”

 

By this time, Gimli and Legolas were at the door and everyone stood open-mouthed.

 

“No!” roared Thorin.

 

“Sounds like a sensible idea,” said Bilbo. “Shall I referee?”

 

“No, it’s a ridiculous idea!” snorted Gimli from the doorway.

 

“Not so ridiculous, my friend,” grinned Legolas.  “She was our captain of the guard and you should see her fight!”

 

“And if I refuse to compete?” asked Thranduil.

 

“Simple,” replied Tauriel.  “I shall never speak to you again.”

 

“Then you leave me no choice,” said the elf king.  “I value your friendship too highly.”  He turned to Thorin, raising an enquiring eyebrow, and the dwarf gave a curt nod in response.

 

As Thranduil made his exit from the room, he stripped off his surcoat and his shirt and handed them to his son.  Tauriel disappeared into her bedroom and re-emerged dressed in a white singlet and a pair of breeches.  Outside, they cleared a suitable area and, as they did so, the rest of the family turned up, curious to find out what was going on.

 

“Thranduil!” exclaimed Poppy as the elf lord emerged from her parents’ home.  “What on earth are you doing here?  How dare you come anywhere near my mother after what you did the other day?!”

 

“Exactly my thoughts,” muttered Thorin.

 

“And what are you doing half naked?” she added disapprovingly.

 

And then Tauriel came out of the house and the newcomers gawped.  “Is no-one going to tell us what is going on?” demanded Arion.

 

“Tauriel and Thranduil are going to have a hand-to-hand fight over that abduction,” volunteered Gimli.  And he started to flap his hands in an effort to make everyone form a circle.

 

“Mother!” shrieked Poppy.  “I just don’t believe you!  Will you never behave in a manner appropriate to your age?”

 

“Grandmother!” wailed Rosie.  “Please don’t!  I know you’ll get hurt.”

 

“NOT very likely,” grinned Legolas.

 

“So, you think that your father will let Tauriel get the upper hand?” whispered Gimli.

 

“I doubt it,” said the elf.  “He’s too proud to just let her win.  He knows her skills and he’ll fight as best he can.  He always wants to be the victor, no matter what the situation; and, if she loses, it will be more humiliating for Thorin than for Tauriel.”

 

And so, the two got ready to fight.  Most of the onlookers were anxious; Poppy and Rosie pressed their hands to their lips.  But Mary Sue stood there quite calmly.  “Don’t worry,” she said to those nearest her, “Tauriel has been taking lessons from me these past few weeks, ever since I won that unarmed combat event.  She was already amazing, but I think I’ve added to her repertoire.”

 

“And,” murmured Thorin to her, “their Aunt Rose was a pretty dirty street fighter and she also passed on some of her tricks.  If this is a no-holds-barred fight, then I think that Tauriel is in with quite a big chance.”  And he smiled into his beard.

 

The two circled each other warily at first but they both eventually got stuck in.  And such was their skill and cunning that, soon, everyone forgot that Thranduil was fighting a woman and just shouted and yelled at every successful blow, whoever made it.

 

And, yes, when they had taken a moment or two to assess exactly how the other was going to fight, they did, indeed, play dirty.  And, after a few taunts from Tauriel, Thranduil showed no reluctance about hitting a woman.

 

“Well!” exclaimed Gimli.  “And I thought this was the woman he loved!  Perhaps I misjudged the situation – and your father.”  Legolas grinned to himself.

 

Every part of their bodies gave and received blows: fists, feet, elbows, knees, head.  “That’s an Erebor Kiss,” murmured Thorin knowledgeably as Tauriel smashed her forehead into Thranduil’s.  “Balin taught her that.”  Blows below the belt were handed out without hesitation and Tauriel, at one point, even used her teeth to bite the elf king’s fingers when he had her in a neck-lock.

 

Thorin whooped in approval when his wife managed to get in a kick between the legs.  How appropriate, he thought.  But Bilbo decided to halt the fight for a few moments at that point because the elf lord couldn’t catch his breath.  Thorin glowered in disappointment.  “Well,” explained Bilbo, “as far as that part of the anatomy is concerned, they’re not exactly on an equal footing.  Thranduil can’t return the ‘compliment’ and so I think he deserves some recovery time.”

 

“Booo!” yelled Thorin.

 

Thorin winced as Thranduil flung his wife across his hip and she landed with a thwack upon the unforgiving ground.  But, he had to admit that they both looked very fine as they moved so swiftly and so gracefully, twisting and turning, their sweat-stained bodies glinting in the sun; and he found himself cheering and applauding along with the rest of his family.  It was very thrilling and, although at first it was difficult to guess which of them would win, Tauriel slowly began to emerge as the superior of the two. 

 

She took a flying leap and her foot made violent contact with Thranduil’s chest, momentarily driving all breath from his body.  “One for the love potion in the drink,” muttered Thorin.

 

But, then he managed to hold her briefly at bay when his elbow engaged with her chin and she staggered back a few steps.  In response, a low, whirling spin with her leg extended caught him in the ankles and he was thrown backwards on the ground.  “And one for the sleeping draught in my wine,” Thorin said to himself.

 

Thranduil scrambled to his feet but Tauriel kicked him hard in the stomach in a move learned from Rose.  Thorin shouted his approval.  “And that’s one for the abduction!”  The elf king rolled gasping onto his back and could not get up and Tauriel placed her booted foot firmly upon his chest.

 

“Do you yield?” she asked.

 

“Yes, I yield,” he panted.

 

“Then I am satisfied,” she replied.  And, turning to her husband, she asked:  “And are you satisfied?”

 

At her query, Thorin suddenly realised that he was.  Bilbo had been right.  A knock-down fight was, indeed, very satisfying.  “Yes,” he said.  And he reached down and pulled Thranduil into a sitting position.

 

“Now,” grinned Tauriel, kneeling by the elf king’s side and cupping his bruised and battered face between her hands, “now, we kiss and make up.”  And she gently planted a kiss on his forehead.  And then Thorin knelt at his other side and, with a smirk, planted a smacking kiss on his forehead too.

 

“There,” he said.  “All’s forgiven.”  And he took Tauriel’s damaged and bloody hand in his and swaggered with her back into the house.

 

Legolas helped Thranduil into his clothes.  “You got off lightly, father,” he said, as the assembled company clapped the defeated king politely in a sportsmanlike way.  Thranduil just groaned and motioned for his horse.

 

And Gimli gave Legolas a hearty slap on the back.  “That was an interesting experience,” he said.  “Time to go home, I reckon.”  And Legolas mounted on his own horse and pulled his friend up behind him.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Well done, Bilbo,” said Thorin.  “I think you’ve managed to sort out this mess quite nicely.  I really enjoyed that fight between Tauriel and Thranduil.”_

_“Glad to be of service,” smiled Bilbo.  “I said this story would be about more than just the building of my hobbit hole.”_

_“And so you did,” laughed the dwarf.  “But now I’d like you to pass the laptop over because I want to finish your story with a few private details.”)_

Thorin sat Tauriel on the edge of the bed and went to get a bowl of water.  His family were crowding anxiously into the house.  “Is she all right?” asked Rosie.

 

“Of course she is,” said Thorin.  “Now just leave me to tidy your mother up and go back to your own homes.”

 

Reluctantly, they left and Thorin returned to the bedroom with the bowl.

 

“They’ve gone,” he said and gently he began to wash her grazed knuckles and her bruised and bloodstained face.

 

“It hurts a bit,” she said.  And then she grinned.  “But it was really, really worth it.”

 

When Tauriel was sorted, they snuggled down under the coverlet together.  “Making up’s the best bit,” whispered Thorin in his dark, velvety voice.

 

“And I reckon that we’ve got an awful lot of making up to do,” was his wife’s response.  “And so I think we’d better get a move on.”  And, giggling, she pulled the covers up over their heads.

 

.o00o.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Surprise. 
> 
> Thorin decides to do something nice for Tauriel and, with the help of the wayward laptop, he creates a surprise. I wonder what it is? And will he nearly kill himself in the process?


	42. Thorin and the Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin sets about building a 'surprise' for Tauriel because he is bored and has nothing to do. I wonder how many of my readers can guess what he is doing before he reveals all to his wife. And, however big the surprise is, I think someone ought to tell that dwarf that it's not worth dying for.

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin……. and Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Surprise

 

Pt I

 

Tauriel stirred as the dawn came in – quite late, now that winter was approaching.  She reached out to slide an arm about her husband’s waist and found only a muscular thigh instead.  She opened one eye and saw Thorin sitting up in bed, leaning back against the pillows with his hands clasped behind his head.

 

“Thinking?” she asked.

 

“Mmm,” he said.

 

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t,” was the elf’s response.

 

“Actually,” he said with a sigh, “I’ve got nothing much to think about since there’s so little happening in our life.”

 

“Can I suggest something?” said Tauriel, stroking his leg.  “How about you getting up and making breakfast?  That would give you something to do.”

 

“Too tired,” said Thorin.

 

“Well, how about I give you a cuddle and you go back to sleep?” was her next suggestion.

 

“Not tired enough.”

 

“So, how about we make love, then?” she suggested seductively; and her hand crept further up his thigh.

 

“B-o-r-ring!” grinned Thorin.

 

“You – you – orc!” yelled Tauriel and she threw back the covers with a disgusted snort, leaped astride his lap and began to tickle his ribs.

 

Thorin twitched convulsively.  His arms shot down from behind his head and he tried to press them protectively to his sides.  “Stop it, Tauriel!” he yelped.

 

“No mercy!” she cried and they rolled giggling and screaming across the bed until Thorin decided that the only way to stop the torture was to kiss her.  The ploy worked and her hands soon left his ribs to find a more interesting position on his braids.  She tugged them sharply and pulled him to her.

 

“So, how about some love-making?” she asked silkily.  “Do you yield to my demands or would you prefer to be tortured some more?”

 

“Hmm,” he pondered.  “Love-making or torture?  Torture or love-making?  Well, torture could be an interesting proposition,” he grinned.   But then he yelled as her hands shot back to his ribs once more.  “No!” he cried in desperation.  “Make love to me!  I’m all yours!”  And he spread his arms wide on the sheet with a resigned look on his face.  “I shall succumb to my wife’s cruelty,” he moaned.

 

And laughingly, she seized him by his plaits again and kissed him hard until all laughter ceased and the room fell silent.

 

But, afterwards, as she lay there in bed with Thorin dozing beside her, she found herself racking her brains for something that her husband could do to pass his time in a useful way.  Time for another laptop story, she thought, and she slipped out of bed, sat up to the table and typed:

 

Thorin and the Surprise

 

.o00o.

 

It was Tauriel who made breakfast in the end.  And afterwards, she said to Thorin, before he had the opportunity to think too much again: “Why don’t you go down and find out how Evanuil and Favreen’s tree house is coming along?  They’re trying to redecorate it themselves and they might need a few words of advice.”

 

When he gave a slight nod of agreement, she then suggested that, after lunch, he could visit the children and Bilbo and find out what they were up to as well.

 

That should keep him busy for a bit, she thought to herself.

 

“And put on your fur coat,” she yelled after him.  “It’s really cold today.”

 

That’s true, he thought. Winter’s coming on fast this year.  And he snuggled down into his fur collar.

 

Down the hill, amidst the elven tree houses, Thorin found Evanuil and Favreen busily renovating one that had been empty for a long time.  They called him up and he could see that they were making good progress.  “Need any help?” he asked gruffly.  But, no, they were enjoying themselves and wanted to prolong the pleasure.  And would they get married soon after it was finished, he wanted to know?  And, yes, that was their intention.

 

“But don’t be concerned, Thorin,” said Favreen, giving him a kindly pat on the shoulder.  “You needn’t worry that we shall involve you.  You did a marvellous job on that double wedding but you must be exhausted now and so we shan’t drag you into our little affair – except as a guest.  You must turn up and help us eat the food.”  And they both laughed.

 

At first Thorin was relieved and then he felt disappointed that his help wasn’t needed.  But they cheered him up a bit with a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate cake.  It was a bright, cold day and they were sitting out on the flet, admiring the view.  “Look,” said Favreen.  “There’s already snow on The Mountain.”  The called it The Mountain although it was little more than a very tall, rugged hill rising up from the range that their own homes were set upon.  It was certainly nowhere near as tall as Erebor, but it brought back good memories of his home to Thorin.

 

“I think we’ll get snow earlier than usual,” he guessed.  And, after a few more exchanges about the weather, he set out once more for the forge.

 

“They didn’t want any help,” he told Tauriel rather grumpily.  “Nor do they need any assistance when they get married.”

 

The elf could tell he was disappointed and so she tried again. “The kids are working on their gardens,” she said.  “I bet _they_ need some help.”

 

And so, after lunch, he made his way up to Arion’s cottage and then to Rosie’s elven home and even to Bilbo’s recently-constructed hobbit-hole.  They were all gardening, getting their plots sorted before winter.  But they all said the same thing: like the elves with their tree-house, they were really finding an enormous amount of pleasure in making their new homes beautiful.  He was offered plenty of tea and cake but otherwise came away empty-handed.

 

“No luck?” asked Tauriel when he got back to the forge.  Thorin grunted and went outside to smoke his pipe: it always helped him to work things out.  He blew smoke rings, gazed down to the harbour and up to the mountain – and then a bright light switched on.

 

He went back inside the house and gave Tauriel a kiss.  “I’ve got an idea and it’s going to be a surprise – a present – for you,” he grinned.

 

“Oh, tell me, Thorin,” she laughed.  “I hate surprises.”

 

“Nope,” he said.  “You’ll have to wait.  But you might be able to guess as you watch me put things together.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

For the next few weeks, Thorin worked away on an empty patch in their garden.  He dug a very, very deep tunnel into the side of the hill and, at first, Tauriel wondered if it were another hobbit hole.

 

“You’re not making a home for Frodo, are you?” she guessed.  “I wouldn’t think you would enjoy him living so close.”

 

“Wrong,” he said smugly.  “Not even vaguely warm.  Absolutely dead cold, in fact.  Try again.”

 

But Tauriel was completely stumped, especially when he brought home a ton of stone from the quarry on his sled and then began to shape the stones.  These he used to line the tunnel and she stood and admired the beautiful arched roof in the farthest section which opened up into a space just big enough for her to stand in. Strange gutters ran around this little room and on both sides of the tunnel to the entrance.

 

“Any more ideas?” he asked.

 

“How about a playhouse for all these children you hope that Arion and Rosie will have?”

 

“Even colder,” laughed Thorin.

 

When he had finished the stonework, he fitted an unusual door.  It was a double thickness and in the space between was padding made from sawdust and straw.

 

“I know,” said Tauriel.  “You’re going to sleep here in the summer – all the light and noise will be cut out and you’ll be able to get a decent night’s sleep, just as if you were in the deepest cave.  But, don’t expect me to join you.”

 

“I’ll give you one point for the word ’summer’,” laughed Thorin.  “Otherwise, you’re completely off-track.  And don’t forget this is supposed to be a present for you, not for me.”

 

“So, how about a wardrobe that I can store my winter clothes in during the summer so that the moths can’t get to them?”

 

“Hmm,” mused Thorin.  “That’s an interesting thought.  But………no!”

 

Tauriel continued to guess on and off over the next week but got nowhere.

 

“Nope….no……cold……..even colder…….try again……good idea, but no,” was all she got out of him.

 

In the meantime, the weather was beginning to get even colder than Tauriel’s guesses.  However, the colder it got, the more cheerful Thorin became.  “Really weird,” thought the elf, although she always loved him in his winter clothes because he looked so much like a cuddly bear.

 

The rest of the family would also come and stare and guess from time to time but they got no further than Tauriel.

 

At last Thorin said: “Right!  It’s just about finished.  It needs only one more addition and I need to go and fetch it.  I shall be gone a whole day.”  And the night before he set out, he gathered together his sled and various implements, such as a pickaxe, a heavy hammer and a large chisel that he normally used for splitting rock up at the quarry.

 

Tauriel felt she was no further forward, even with all the clues.  Thorin set off at crack of dawn, not telling her where he was going; but, as she watched him from the window, she saw that he was heading in the direction of The Mountain.

 

She went back to bed for an hour and then got up and made breakfast but, by the time she had finished, a few flakes of snow had begun to fall and she felt the first twinges of anxiety.

 

.o00o.

 

Late that morning, wrapped in a fur coat of her own, Tauriel stood outside in the falling snow and stared at the tunnel that Thorin had built.  What _was_ it?  She was very worried about the weather and she felt that she really needed to know where Thorin had gone.  She looked up at the snow flurries that were beginning to fall faster.  The flakes weren’t settling yet but it was very cold and she knew they soon would.  The path up to the house was getting a bit slippery with the ice that was forming and she needed to be careful.

 

Then suddenly, it came to her.  She knew what Thorin had built!  ICE!  It was an ICE house, to keep her food cold in summer and to make fancy, cold desserts!  How wonderful!  But, no, it wasn’t, because there was one missing piece: the ice.  And Thorin had gone up the mountain to collect it.  The idiot!  If only he had waited a little longer, they would have had plenty of ice and snow on their doorstep.  But he was so impatient once he had an idea in his head and she guessed that he must be trekking up to the peak where a delightful, shallow lake snuggled into a hollow – it was doubtless frozen over by now and he was going to hack out lumps of ice and bring it back down on his sled.

 

Oh, the fool!  And Tauriel headed first for the house where she got together a pack and then for the stables where she saddled her horse.  She knew, because of the nature of the terrain, that she couldn’t ride all the way to the top but she hoped that the horse would give her speed and that she might be able to overtake him and bring him home.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thorin was so angry with himself.  If only he had turned back when the first snowflakes had begun to fall.  But, one of his flaws was his impatience and, another, was an overconfidence in himself and his ideas.  He had set out for the mountain without telling anyone where he was going and at a time when it was obvious that there would be enough snow and ice to sink Thranduil’s barge – if only he had hung on for another day or so.  But, he had finished building his ice house and he wanted to fill it up NOW!  He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Tauriel’s face when he came into the yard, tugging his sled laden with ice behind him – and the penny finally dropped.  He knew she would be thrilled.  She hated wasting food when it went off in hot weather and it was tiresome and time-consuming smoking and salting a lot of their meat in an effort to preserve it.  And he also remembered the delicious ices that had been served up by the elves of Middle-earth.  Yes, they could make them in the winter when the snow fell but who wanted them then?  A hot bowl of something was much more appealing.  But, at the height of summer?  Fantastic!  He already had visions of his family queuing at his door on a sweltering day, hoping for a cold treat and praising him for such a wonderful idea.  And then everyone would want an ice house.  That would keep him busy for a long time.

 

But, pride goes before a fall – and it had certainly been a terrific fall, he thought, as he lay at the bottom of the ravine with a broken ankle.  The path had just crumbled away under his feet and he had lost his footing, bringing the sled down after himself.  He was lucky it hadn’t struck him on the head.  But his ankle wasn’t the only thing that was broken.  And he looked regretfully across at the shattered sled which had done him such good service for so many years.

 

But, the main question now was what to do next.  The flurries of snow were getting heavier and he couldn’t see very far.  He had no idea whether or not the ravine was a dead end.  If it was, then what were the chances that he could climb out before dragging himself down the mountainside?  He wondered how long he would have to wait before they sent out a search party.  And he also wondered if they would guess where he had gone.  After all, why should they?

 

The Undying Lands – but only for the immortal elves.  And a shudder ran through Thorin as he suddenly became aware of his own mortality.  How careless he had been with the gift that had been given him.  “Be careful!” Tauriel was always saying to him.  And he knew why she said it.

 

He looked around for some shelter in which to wait out the storm.  All he could see was a scrubby run of bushes.  Better than nothing, he thought.  At least he was wearing his fur-lined coat.  And he pulled himself painfully along the ground until he could huddle under the stunted vegetation.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel urged her horse up the hill, allowing it to pick its way delicately between the rocks and the clumps of grass.  She wanted it to go faster but she understood that she had to take things steadily.  She knew the path because she and Thorin had climbed The Mountain years ago when they had first explored their surroundings.  And she remembered a happy day they had spent together, picnicking by the side of the quaint lake near its summit.  They had reached that point on foot and she knew that she would soon have to abandon her horse.  Where was he, she thought?  And she stopped for a moment and yelled his name.  But, she heard no response above the rising howl of the wind.

 

Her anxiety was increasing now that the snow was beginning to settle.  Surely, she thought, even if he had reached the lake, he should be on the return journey by now?  Why hadn’t their paths crossed?  Had she even guessed correctly about his intended destination?

 

Suddenly, she saw something on the ground, half covered in the snow, and she slid from her horse to examine it.  His pickaxe!  And she was torn between elation and fear.  What was it doing, lying here on the ground?  And then she noticed that the edge of the path had broken away and she moved cautiously forward and peered over.  Just below her, she could see Thorin’s sled and it was smashed into pieces.  But, where was Thorin?  And her heart clenched.  She put her hands to her lips and yelled his name repeatedly.  Then, she listened carefully and her sharp hearing picked up a distant reply.  “I’m coming!” she shouted.

 

She examined the area carefully and thought she could see a way down.  And then she remounted.  Her sure-footed horse slid and teetered down the slope until they reached the bottom of the ravine in one piece.  There, she paused to call his name again and the yell of “Tauriel” came to her from quite close by.  After that, she quickly found him, edging out from beneath the shelter of some bushes.

 

“You fool!” she exclaimed as her relief turned to anger.  He grimaced wryly and looked like a naughty little boy.  “Sorry, Tauriel,” he said, “but I really wanted to give you a surprise.”

 

“Come on,” she snapped.  “Just get up behind me and we’ll try to find a way out of this ravine before it gets dark.”

 

He looked down and then he looked up again through black lashes.  “I can’t,” he said.  “I’ve broken my ankle.”

 

She was out of the saddle and kneeling in the snow beside him within seconds.  Carefully, she unbound the leather straps that criss-crossed around his boot from ankle to knee and this loosened it sufficiently for her to ease the boot off.  His ankle was hot and swollen and she felt it gently.  “I reckon you’re right,” she sighed.  “I think we’ll have to look for shelter and get you out of here in the morning.”

 

And so she remounted her horse and searched the ravine until, by a lucky chance, she found a small cave.  “Just about big enough for you, me and the horse to huddle in,” she said after she came back.

 

“Or to cuddle in,” he grinned.

 

Tauriel rolled her eyes.  “Even with a broken ankle,” she tutted.

 

“ _Especially_ with a broken ankle,” he laughed.  “I’ll need something to distract me from the pain.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

It was tricky, but Tauriel finally got Thorin mounted and she led the horse to the cave.  After getting him comfortably settled, she unloaded her pack and went back to collect the wood from the shattered sled plus as many of the bushes as the horse could pull behind it.  Fortunately, out of habit, Thorin always carried his axe on his back and this was a useful tool.

 

Back in the cave, she selected some of the wood from the former sled to use as splints and the rest she began to build a fire with.  From her pack she withdrew a tinderbox - “You think of everything,” smiled Thorin – and soon a comforting fire was burning.  Then she brought out food for themselves and some provisions for the horse.  “Such organisation,” said Thorin.  “I only brought some sandwiches and I ate them hours ago.”

 

“What would you do without me?” laughed his wife.

 

“I seriously don’t know,” said Thorin and he drew her fingers to his lips and gently kissed them.

 

Soon, they were warm and fed.  The horse munched on its oats and radiated a terrific heat.  “I think we’ll be alright even if the fire doesn’t last,” said Tauriel, “but I hope the snow doesn’t get too deep to negotiate.”

 

Then, before he could stop her, she had taken off her shirt and ripped out the sleeves.  “What on earth are you doing?” he asked.

 

“Making bindings for the splints,” she replied, replacing the shirt.  And she wrapped his ankle firmly so that he felt a lot more comfortable.

 

“That’s better,” he said.  But, then he held out his arms.  “Time for that cuddle now,” he smiled.  “I wouldn’t want you to get cold without any sleeves.”  And she burrowed into his furs and giggled. 

 

“You’re like a great bear, you know,” she murmured.

 

“I always knew you fancied Beorn,” he said indignantly.

 

She burrowed further.  “Too big and scary,” she said.  “You’re just the right size – and much nicer.”  And she adeptly undid a few buttons and slipped her hand inside his shirt.

 

“Ow!  You’re cold,” he yelped.

 

“Cold hands, warm heart,” she retorted.  “Stop complaining.”

 

“Who’s complaining?” he whispered as he held her tightly against his hard chest.  “Mind you, I believe in a fair exchange of heat.”  And he slipped his hand inside his wife’s fur coat and began to undo the buttons of her mangled shirt.

 

Tauriel protested.  “That’s not a fair exchange,” she said as his fingers caressed her soft skin.  “I’m sure your hands are colder than mine!”

 

 

“Don’t worry,” he murmured softly.  “I’ll see what I can do to warm them up.  Mind you, my love, that process might take all night.”

 

.o00o.

 

They were woken up the next morning by bright sunshine glittering off the snow.  The fire had gone out but, as predicted, they were still quite warm.  They peered out of the cave mouth and found a clear blue sky and at least a foot of snow but it wasn’t as deep as they had feared.

 

“It must have stopped in the night,” said Tauriel.

 

“What a pity,” said Thorin.  “I was looking forward to being snowed in with you – like, forever.”

 

“Or until we starved to death!” said the elf tartly.

 

Thorin nuzzled her neck.  “But what a way to go,” he murmured in deep, dulcet tones.

 

“How’s your ankle?” she asked, pulling away from him.

 

“All the better for last night,” he grinned.  “But I reckon it could do with a bit more therapy.”  And he pulled her to him again.

 

“Now, stop it, Thorin,” she said severely.  “Our main aim is to get out of here.”

 

“You’re no fun,” he sighed.  But he kissed her and let her go reluctantly.

 

.o00o.

 

She packed their things and saddled the horse and then she helped Thorin onto its back and mounted in front of him.  They rode the length of the ravine and, to their relief, they found there was a way out to the slopes lower down the mountainside.  Their horse was making heavy weather of things, trudging through the snow, but was managing.

 

As they returned to the main path, they suddenly saw a gang of riders coming towards them in the distance: Arion, Mary Sue, Lostwithiel, Poppy, Rosie, Beren and Bilbo.  The group waved their arms frantically and shouted and whooped at them.  As they closed the gap, Thorin and Tauriel could see the relief on their faces.

 

“Where have you two been?” Poppy asked in an annoyed tone.  “We couldn’t find you last night and the horse was missing.  But there was nothing we could do until this morning.”

 

“We’ve been worried to death,” said Arion angrily.  “We’ve been up all night.”

 

“And it was me who guessed where you probably were!” exclaimed Mary Sue.

 

“And how did you do that, you clever girl?” smiled Thorin, trying to be nice because he realised that his family had been put through the mill.

 

“ICE HOUSE!” she yelled.  “I’ve seen them in the grounds of large mansions in my own world.  And, suddenly, all the dots connected and I realised what you were building.  And then we sat down and worked out where you would get the ice from.”

 

Then they wanted to know why they had taken only one horse and an embarrassed Thorin had to explain how he had gone on his own and Tauriel had come after him.  There was a lot of kindly fussing about his broken ankle and he was relieved to see that they had forgiven him.

 

“We had to spend the night in a cave,” said Tauriel.

 

“Oh, that must have been awful,” said Rosie.

 

“It could have been worse,” said Thorin, smiling into his beard, and Lostwithiel smirked in a knowing manner.

 

Why does that elf, thought Thorin with irritation, always seem to guess what we’ve been up to?

 

When they got back to the forge, Lostwithiel, Beren and Arion helped Thorin from the horse and carried him to his bed.  He sank back on his pillows with a sigh and Tauriel examined his ankle and re-strapped it.  “The bone will set much quicker here than on Middle-earth,” she said.  Then the kids made a nice, hot lunch and brought it into the bedroom where they could all talk to him and keep him company.

 

Rosie sat on the bed next to him and cuddled into Thorin’s shoulder.  “You gave us such a fright, grandfather,” she said.  “I wish we still had breakfast with you every day and then we might have a better idea of what you were up to.”

 

The rest of them looked up then.  “She’s right, you know.  We don’t manage to keep track of you and your life like we used to,” said Arion.  “Perhaps we should start breakfasting together again.”

 

“Fair enough, I suppose,” said Thorin grumpily.  “But not in my house.  Are you prepared to cook breakfast for everyone seven days a week, for instance?”

 

Rosie pulled a face.  “Not really,” she said.

 

“Well, there you go,” said Thorin.

 

“But I wouldn’t mind doing it one morning a week,” she added.

 

And then they all put their heads together and worked out a rota between them whereby, on five mornings per week, each couple plus Bilbo would take turns to cook everyone else breakfast.  “That should be fun,” said Mary Sue and it was agreed that they would start the system the following day.

 

“Well, they all seemed to go home happy,” said Thorin that evening.  “I suppose that, except on the one day when we have to make breakfast, we won’t have to get up as early as we used to.  And, I must admit that I have missed our communal eating together.”

 

Tauriel helped him to get undressed, washed and ready for bed.  “I feel like such a helpless baby,” he complained.

 

“And whose fault is that?” she said.

 

“Well, I _am_ trying to think of a reason to blame you,” he grinned, “but nothing’s coming at the moment.”

 

“For that,” she said severely, “I think I shall make up my bed in the other room.”

 

“Don’t do that,” he said, reaching out for her hand.  “You know how I hate to sleep alone.”

 

Tauriel was serious for a moment.  “But I don’t want to damage your ankle any further,” she said.  “I honestly think you’d be better off without me in bed with you.”

 

Thorin gripped her hand firmly.  “If I can manage on the floor of a cave, then I can manage in a feather bed,” he said.  And then he kissed her long and hard and there was no more argument.

 

.o00o.

 

( _Thorin sighed.  “Your stories are the best, Tauriel,” he said.  “That ice house was a really clever idea of mine, wasn’t it?”_

_“Yes, my love,” smiled Tauriel, “although, since I wrote the story, I suppose it’s a moot point as to whether the ice house was your idea or mine.”_

_“Oh, I’m sure it was mine,” said Thorin.  “This laptop seems to know us all really well and we’re always characterised in the right way, whoever writes the story.  And that was just such an accurate portrayal of the clever way my mind works.”_

_“Yes,” agreed Tauriel.  “And it was also a very accurate depiction of your pig-headedness and your impatience too.”_

_“Hmm,” said her husband, refusing to rise to the bait.  “But you’ve also got to admit that it seems to have a pretty good handle on my sexual prowess.  We must take a picnic up to that cave in the spring – I really had a good time there and perhaps we could – erm – recapture the moment.”_

_“My love,” said Tauriel, “there are so many wonderful moments in our life together that are worth recapturing – and we don’t have to wait until the spring.”  And she took him by the arm and gently led him back to bed.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Celebrity Crush. I wonder how many readers on AO3 have crushes on celebrities and I wonder how much this irritates all partners concerned, LOL!? All the ladies develop a big crush on the most fabulous elf in all Valinor whom they meet at one of the big elven weddings and this really gets up the nose of Thorin and his friends. Olorien, who caused trouble with his love philtre in a previous story, is on hand once more to stir it up for everyone. This story extends over three chapters in three stand-alone episodes.


	43. Thorin and the Celebrity Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone attends a wedding and one of the guests is the most gorgeous elf in Valinor. The ladies are absolutely gobsmacked and their husbands are totally annoyed and would love to punch him on the nose. To add to the bad feelings, Olorien the Alchemist, master of philtres and potions, decides to stir a little by adding a truth-telling drug to some of the wedding drinks. Will the whole day prove to be a disaster?
> 
> The 'crush' is a new character in this episode - not one of mine, however, but one of Tolkien’s. He may not be familiar to you if you don’t know the LotR that well because Peter Jackson excised him from the films, much to the fury of the purists.

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin………And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Celebrity Crush

 

Pt I

 

“So,” said the young elf, Evanuil, “Here’s your invitation to our wedding.”

 

“And we really want you to come,” added his betrothed, Favreen, rather anxiously.

 

“And why wouldn’t we want to come?” smiled Thorin, taking the prettily designed card from Evanuil’s hand.

 

 “W-e-e-l-l,” murmured the bride-to-be, “although it’s a very small wedding compared to the one you organised, Thorin, there might still be some guests that you would rather weren’t there.”

 

“Like Thranduil,” said Tauriel bluntly.

 

“Evanuil looked embarrassed.  “My father was a Mirkwood elf and Thranduil was his king.  It would be very offensive not to invite him.”

 

Thorin patted Evanuil on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “I think we can cope with Thranduil.  It’s very thoughtful of you to warn us of his presence.”

 

“We have really tried to keep the numbers of guests down to the absolute minimum,” volunteered Favreen, an earnest look on her pretty face, “but there are some people you just HAVE to invite.”

 

Thorin and Tauriel gave understanding nods and asked how they had decided on the guests.

 

“Well, we sat down and wrote a list of all the most important people we could think of in the area, like Gandalf, Elrond, Legolas and Thranduil; and then we added people whom we actually wanted to be there, like yourselves and the rest of your family.  And then we told the important ones that, if they wished, each invitation could include one ‘friend’.  In that way, we could keep the majority of Elrond and Thranduil’s retainers and companions out of the mix – because we don’t really know them anyway.   We do want to keep this small but we hope we haven’t offended anyone.”

 

“Of course you’ve offended people,” laughed Thorin.  “Every single person you haven’t invited will be offended.”

 

“But it can’t be helped,” added Tauriel encouragingly.  “It’s your wedding and you must do what you want.”

 

“That’s what we thought,” said Evanuil, with a look of relief on his face that he had got the support and understanding of the Oakenshields.  They always knew the right way to go about things.

 

.o00o.

 

The two betrothed elves had finished renovating their house in the stand of trees just below the forge and now they were ready for the wedding.  It would be a winter ceremony – there might even be snow on the ground – but Favreen thought that this would add to the romance of the moment.

 

“I’d like to write about it, of course,” added Evanuil. “So would you mind very much if I borrowed the laptop?”  And, of course, Thorin and Tauriel could see no problem with that and handed it over.

 

Evanuil sat up to Thorin’s dining table and typed the title:

 

Thorin and the Celebrity Crush

 

_(“That’s a strange title,” muttered Thorin over his shoulder.  “What on earth does that mean?”_

_“Mmm, not quite sure,” responded Evanuil.  “It just sort of came.  Perhaps we’ll find out as the story progresses.”_

_“This laptop is getting weirder the more we use it,” said Thorin.  “Are you sure you want to carry on?”_

_“What alternative is there if we want to get married?” asked the elf._

_And the dwarf had to admit that there didn’t seem to be one.)_

It was the day before their wedding and Evanuil and Favreen were down in the harbour area making last minute arrangements for their big day.  As they had expected, there was snow on the ground and, knowing how cold and, even hostile, the weather might be at this time of the year, they had laid their plans accordingly.

 

It was obviously not a good idea to hold the affair in silken pavilions nor to expect their guests to camp out as had been the case for many of them when Thorin had arranged his double wedding; but, instead, the couple had taken over many of the tree houses that now stood empty.  These had always been offered as temporary lodgings to newcomers as they had arrived on the ships from the Grey Havens.  But, the last ship had docked some time ago and most of the elves had moved on, building their own properties like Thorin’s family had now done.  Tomorrow, the trees would provide accommodation for the wedding guests.

 

The ceremony itself and the feasting afterwards would be held in the great, wooden Moot Hall, which had been a meeting place for all who had passed through over a period of hundreds of years.  It overlooked the harbour and was a pretty building, constructed of fine timbers, with a tiled roof and a huge central fireplace, made of stone, which would be a real necessity on such a cold, winter’s day as tomorrow promised to be.

 

The Oakenshields and Bilbo had come down from their homes on the hill to spend a couple of nights there.  Much to Thorin’s relief, he wasn’t obliged to take on a tree house because Bilbo suggested that he and Tauriel moved into his wooden shack which was still empty after he had vacated it, whilst he shared with Frodo who still lived next door.

 

Thorin sat smoking a pipe with Frodo late that afternoon on the harbour wall.  They were both wrapped up against the elements, but the day was fine and clear and a mass of twinkling stars would soon appear in a beautiful swathe across the firmament.

 

“So, when are you going to build a hobbit hole up next to Bilbo?” Thorin asked.

 

“Probably never,” smiled Frodo gently.  “I love living down here, near the sea, and, if I want some company, then Bilbo’s home is large enough for both of us.”

 

His wide, sad eyes gazed at the distant horizon.  “It’s out there, you know.  Middle-earth.  And I shall never see it again.  But, I feel nearer to it down here.”  And he turned towards Thorin with a melancholy look.  “You understand, don’t you?” he said.  “You’re not an elf and, like me, you don’t really belong here.”

 

“But I’m not unhappy,” said Thorin.

 

“And neither am I,” was the response.  “And I know you can’t have everything; but I just sort of feel……wistful.”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin, putting an arm around the little hobbit’s shoulders.  “Yes, I know what you mean.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

 Most of the guests had already arrived, but they were still waiting for Elrond, Thranduil and Legolas, together with their particular friends.  Then, as a purple twilight set in and a full moon rose, Legolas arrived on horseback with – surprise, surprise – Gimli mounted behind him.  “My special friend,” he smiled.

 

“And where’s your father?” asked Thorin, as he helped Gimli dismount.

 

“Right behind us,” grinned the elf prince.  “You know how he likes to make an entrance.”

 

And, as the stars glittered on the snow and the moon shone brightly above them, they suddenly heard the sound of silver bells.  Thorin, his family and the other assembled guests looked up and, dashing towards them, they saw a large and beautiful sleigh, wonderfully carved and as silver as its bells. It was pulled by a troika of white horses and driven by a handsome elf.  It skidded to a halt in front of them all and, lounging elegantly and comfortably upon its padded leather seats, sat Thranduil.  Everyone gawped.

 

“He does it every time,” laughed Thorin to Tauriel.

 

The elf king was dressed in an extraordinary coat, made of thick, white fur.  It stretched to his ankles and gave Thranduil a look of exotic opulence.

 

“Amazing,” said Tauriel, wide-eyed.

 

“I wouldn’t mind one of those,” whispered Poppy to her husband hopefully.

 

“Dream on,” laughed Lostwithiel.

 

Arion had wondered, in a conversation with his parents only the day before, if, after his ignominious defeat at the hands of Tauriel, Thranduil would show a bit more humility.

 

“Not a chance,” Thorin had said.  “His arrogance is built in and I suppose we either have to take him or leave him.  Me?  I’d rather leave him, but I bow to my wife’s more compassionate nature.”  And he had kissed Tauriel on the cheek.

 

With a grin, Thorin stepped forward and held out his hand to the King of Mirkwood.  “Do you need some assistance alighting from your sleigh?” he asked.  “Your coat looks kind of – umm – heavy.”

 

“So kind,” replied Thranduil languidly.  And he placed his long, cool fingers delicately in the grasp of the dwarf’s large, strong hand.

 

Thorin laughed and helped him down the steps, giving an ostentatious bow.  Tauriel smiled to see her husband in such a good humour.  This was really the only way to treat the elven king.

 

“Now, Thorin,” responded Thranduil.  “You’re not going to spoil my evening by being so NICE, are you?  It’s just so much more fun when you’re grumpy.”

 

“Now, why would I go out of my way to give you any fun?” Thorin grinned.  “Spoiling your evening sounds a lot more entertaining.”

 

“Ah, the cruelty of dwarves,” sighed Thranduil.  “Well, perhaps you will give my guest an equally nice welcome.  I believe that you met at the previous wedding.”  And he turned and helped down the dark-haired Olorien.  “My alchemist,” he said.  Then he smiled to himself.  The dwarf had always been so easy to read and he could see the troubled thoughts that were crossing his brow.  You’re wondering, aren’t you, he said to himself, if this is the elf who supplied me with the love philtre?  Well, you’d be right.  But, neither of us will be letting on, so, puzzle away.

 

Tauriel stepped forward and greeted Olorien.  “How nice to meet you again,” she said sweetly.  “I always wondered what concoctions – what potions or philtres - you brewed in your laboratory.  I shall have to visit one day.”

 

Her voice was a bit tart, but Thranduil retorted: “Olorien’s ‘concoctions’, as you call them, have saved many lives on the battlefield – as you have cause to remember, my dear Tauriel.”  And he bowed over her fingers and kissed the tips.

 

Then both Thorin and Tauriel thought back to when the dwarf had been badly injured at the Battle of the Five Armies and how Thranduil had saved his life.

 

He always has the last word, thought Thorin.  But he knew when thanks were due.  And he bowed graciously to the two of them and said: “You are both honoured guests here.”  And his bow was just as graciously returned.

 

“We overtook Elrond on the road,” said Thranduil then.  “He should be with us any minute.”  And all the assembled company turned and stared down the road into the gathering darkness.

 

“I wonder who his guest will be?” whispered Rosie.  She was standing with Favreen, Mary Sue, Poppy and a few other women who would be helping the bride the next morning.

 

“We shall soon see,” said Tauriel.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Then, in the distance, they saw a faint glow shining in the gloom.  “It’s Elrond!” cried Legolas whose eyesight was very sharp.  “And, with him, rides Glorfindel!”

 

“Glorfindel?” asked Thorin.  “Who’s he?”

 

“Ah,” said Gandalf, his eyes lighting up with pleasure.  “He is one of the mighty of the Firstborn.”

 

“Mighty?” asked Poppy.

 

“Yes, mighty in power, wisdom and moral courage,” answered Gandalf.

 

“Sounds a bit of a bore,” whispered Thorin to Tauriel.

 

“He killed a Balrog,” continued Gandalf, “and confronted the Witch King of Angmar.  But, like me, he was killed himself and then re-embodied.”

 

Frodo stepped forward then, looking more animated than Thorin had ever seen him.  “He saved my life at the Ford of Bruinen,” he said, his eyes shining.  “How wonderful to see him again.”

 

“I’ve heard of him but never met him,” said Tauriel.  “I’ve been told he’s very beautiful.”

 

“Yes,” said Gimli.  “He was at the Council of Elrond and even a dwarf like myself could appreciate his beauty.  Quite extraordinary!”

 

The women began to giggle.

 

“This should be interesting,” whispered Favreen.

 

Thorin glowered.

 

The first remarkable thing that the onlookers noticed as the newcomers drew nearer was the horse that Glorfindel rode upon.  Elrond was on a noble, black steed but Glorfindel’s mount was pure white with a very long and graceful tail and a mane that swept almost to the ground.  In the darkness, its headstall flashed as if it were studded with living stars.

 

“Asfodel,” whispered Legolas.

 

“That horse saved me from the Dark Riders,” said Frodo.

 

And, as they approached the waiting group, they could at last see that Glorfindel was, indeed, very fair of face with a glorious fall of pale gold hair.

 

“Better than mine,” sighed Tauriel.

 

“Oh, for a head of hair like that,” groaned Poppy, tugging at her own blond curls.

 

He was tall and straight and his face was fearless and full of joy.  And, strangely, a faint light seemed to shine through him and from him.

 

“Aahhh,” sighed all the women together.

 

“He’s stunning,” murmured Tauriel to Poppy.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elf so beautiful.”

 

“Don’t exaggerate,” snapped Thorin.

 

“Me neither,” said Poppy in awe.  “He can have me any time.”

 

“Poppy!” cautioned Lostwithiel and he nodded in the direction of their daughter.

 

But Rosie looked equally smitten.  “Sorry, mother, I saw him first.  He’s all mine,” she laughed.

 

Beren opened his mouth at his wife’s behaviour but was stuck for words.

 

“No,” grinned Gimli.  “I saw him first, in Rivendell.  If that’s how you mean to share him out then he’s all mine.”

 

“And I saw him second,” added Legolas.  Shall we split him down the middle?”

 

“Oh, my,” gasped Favreen.  “Do I really want to get married tomorrow?  Any takers for Evanuil?”  And she giggled and glanced around her friends.

 

Fortunately, Evanuil was standing too far away to hear her or there might have been words.

 

“And I suppose you fancy him too,” snapped Arion, turning to Mary Sue.  His wife said nothing and, for a moment, Arion looked smug.  But then she managed to choke out, “No words!” and her husband looked as annoyed as all the others.

 

“He is beautiful inside and out and is so well-loved,” murmured Gandalf, not seeming to notice the excited disturbance going on behind him.

 

“Loved by only half the population, I can imagine,” growled Thorin.

 

The two horses drew to a halt and Elrond dismounted.  He was greeted by his many friends and then he turned and introduced Glorfindel.  “He is known in person to a few of you and by name to many others,” he said with an amused look in his eyes.

 

Glorfindel dismounted too and took Favreen by the hand and kissed it warmly.  “How happy I am to meet the beautiful bride,” he said in a wonderfully melodious voice.  “What a marvellous day it will be for all of us tomorrow.”

 

Favreen looked as though she were going to faint and the other women pressed forward in the hope that their hands would be kissed too.

 

“Did you hear his voice?” said Favreen to Mary Sue, inarticulately.  “He could read the _Silmarillion_ to me and make it interesting.”

 

Mary Sue was still unable to utter a single word.

 

Evanuil then ushered the bridal guests out of the cold and into the Moot Hall where a modest supper was waiting for them.

 

“We need to leave some room in our stomachs for the feasting tomorrow,” laughed Gimli.  But, he ploughed his way through some very generous portions of roast meats and chocolate cake.

 

Many of the husbands became increasingly irritated at the way their wives were fussing around Glorfindel.  He was far too good-looking, too heroic, too well-spoken, too golden-haired and too attractive in all ways for their liking.

 

“I’m so pleased that you brought Glorfindel with you,” said Gandalf to Elrond – one of the few men who apparently _was _ pleased.  “We really don’t see enough of him.”

 

“Oh,” laughed Elrond, his eyes dancing, “I don’t let him out very often.  Trouble seems to follow him everywhere – and I can’t imagine why.  But, I decided that, this time, he deserved a treat.”  And he looked across the table to where Glorfindel was in animated conversation with Favreen.

 

“At this rate,” smiled Gandalf, “there won’t be a wedding tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” was the elf lord’s amused response.  “I’ve seen it all before.  It’s a sort of girly crush – not true love.  That’s reserved for their husbands.”

 

“Ah, yes,” said Gandalf, “but do the husbands know that?  I think we’d better intervene before swords or corks are drawn, don’t you?”  And the two of them sauntered casually over to Glorfindel’s side and withdrew him from Favreen’s clutches.

 

“Having a nice time?” Elrond asked him, grinning.

 

“Oh, yes,” replied Glorfindel with a naïve charm, “everyone is being so nice to me.”

 

“Just the ladies?” asked Gandalf with his regular twinkle.

 

“No,” replied Glorfindel in surprised tones.  “Gimli and Legolas are being very kind too.”

 

And then he wondered why Elrond and Gandalf burst into amused chuckles.

 

The wizard and the elf lord stuck close to Glorfindel’s side for the rest of the evening, much to the annoyance of the ladies but the gratification of their partners.  And finally the time came for them all to retire to their beds.  “There won’t be much sleep had tonight, let me tell you,” said Gandalf.

 

“What?  Lots of romantic love-making before a wedding?” asked Glorfindel innocently.

 

“No, lots of unromantic arguments,” was the cryptic response.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The wizard was right.  Arguments broke out in bedrooms up and down the harbour area that night, no more so than in Bilbo’s old shack where Thorin and Tauriel were supposed to be sleeping.

 

“Your behaviour was very hurtful tonight,” said Thorin, lying stiffly and deliberately apart from Tauriel.

 

“Oh, stop being such an old fuddy-duddy,” sighed Tauriel.  “It was only a bit of fun amongst us girls.”

 

“It may have been a bit of fun to you, but I thought you all showed very inappropriate behaviour,” said Thorin in a dignified manner.

 

Tauriel was feeling irritated.  She and the female members of her family and her girl-friends had had a really good giggle this evening and now Thorin was spoiling it.  “But, Glorfindel is such a staggeringly attractive elf that I’m afraid we couldn’t resist having a bit of a squee over him.  Surely, however, you must realise that it’s only a show of girly silliness,” she tried to explain.  “And I really enjoyed it – a bit of ogling made me feel young again.”

 

“But,” snapped Thorin, “you’re _not_ young.  In fact, you’re very, very old.  And you should act your age.”

 

Ouch.  That hurt, thought Tauriel.  And his words only made her sharper.

 

“Well, I’ll tell you this, Thorin: if I were given a choice between a grumpy dwarven husband and the beautiful Glorfindel, I wouldn’t need a love philtre in my drink to help me make up my mind.”

 

Thorin looked really upset and silently turned over with his back to her.

 

“No,” continued Tauriel, gently sliding an arm about his waist and whispering in his ear.  “I wouldn’t need a love philtre: I’d choose the grumpy dwarf every time.”

 

Thorin was still for a moment and then he turned in her arms and kissed her.  And, at least in Bilbo’s wooden shack, the rest of the night passed off peaceably.

 

.o00o.

 

Favreen was only having one maid-in-attendance, but many of the women were up early the next morning to prepare the bride and most of the men – except Thranduil who was having a lie-in – went off to decorate the Moot Hall with winter boughs – holly, ivy and lots and lots of mistletoe.  “And make sure that Glorfindel doesn’t get to sit under any of it,” advised Thorin.

 

“Too right,” said Arion.  He was tired and bad-tempered this morning after a long argument with Mary Sue who had finally unlocked her lips to express wonder at Glorfindel’s beauty.  The mighty elf lord was standing on a pair of very tall step-ladders, draping greenery across the hall, and quite a few husbands standing nearby had the irrational urge to kick the ladder out from under him.  But, Gandalf was there, monitoring the decorating efforts, keeping a close and critical eye on everyone.

 

No chance to murder him, then, thought Thorin.

 

The tables were pushed back temporarily to the edges of the room and the benches were set up so that they all faced one end of the hall, turned away from the main double doors through which the bride would enter.  And then they began to load the serving tables with fabulous foodstuffs and great barrels of wine and mead. After that, they all looked around themselves at a job well done and went home to deck themselves out in their own finery.

 

Olorien lingered behind.  Mead was a wedding drink and he guessed that just about everyone would have a glass at some point during the afternoon.  And so, he left the wine alone – his own preferred drink – and dosed the mead barrels with some interesting-looking potions that he happened to have in his capacious pockets.  This should liven things up a bit, he thought to himself.

 

.o00o.

 

Well, the wedding dress was made of red velvet and, when Thorin had first heard, he had rolled up his eyes because he thought of the weird design that Mary Sue had first produced for her own gown. But it was lovely and the bride looked very beautiful.  Elrond officiated, of course, and then the tables and benches were pulled back into a square around the central fireplace which now burned brightly with great logs whilst    the food and drink was duly served.

 

Wives and husbands were a little tired and chastened after a night spent arguing and Glorfindel found that he wasn’t being pursued as hotly as on the previous day – which was fine by him.  It sometimes grew a little wearying holding so many delightful women at arm’s length.

 

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom and Olorien was pleased to see that most people chose the doctored mead.  After everyone had feasted upon the wedding fare and had drunk another glass, people began to get a bit giggly.  This surprised Gandalf and Thorin who had chosen only wine, because it seemed to them that not enough alcohol had been drunk yet to take people to the merry stage.  Even Tauriel seemed to be getting slightly silly and Thorin knew how careful she had been for years with her intake, ever since that embarrassing incident when he had made her drunk and escaped from Thranduil’s dungeons as she, the captain of his guard, passed out on the table.

 

Suddenly, Olorien banged his empty goblet upon the trestle and called everyone to attention.  “Game!” he shouted.  “Let’s all play a game!”

 

And the shout of “Game, game, game!” echoed around the hall.

 

“What game shall we play, Olorien?” asked Thranduil, finding it a bit hard to focus.  “Your games are always the best.”

 

“Truth or Forfeit!” suggested the alchemist.  “I ask a question; you tell the truth; if we think you’re lying then you pay a forfeit.”

 

Everyone banged enthusiastically on their tables in agreement.

 

Olorien turned to Thorin first, knowing he had only drunk the wine.  Let’s put you in your place, dwarf, he thought.  “Is Tauriel, your wife, the only woman you have ever loved?” he asked.

 

Thorin hesitated for a giveaway fraction of a second.  “Yes, of course she is,” he said.

 

“Liar!  Liar!” they all chanted. 

 

And then, to his shock, Tauriel looked up and said quite calmly: “Yes, he’s lying.  He was once in love with a woman called Kagris.”

 

He hadn’t told the truth because he had wanted to protect her.  He didn’t understand.  But they had him on his feet to pay his forfeit and then made him negotiate the length of the hall without touching the floor, jumping from table to wobbly stool to bench.  Everyone roared with laughter but applauded him when he reached his goal.  And Thorin sat down with a feeling that the celebrations had taken a very odd turn.

 

Then Olorien picked on Mary Sue who had drunk several glasses of mead.  “Are you glad you are living here,” he asked, “or do you wish you were back in your own world?”

 

That’s a very difficult and complicated question to answer, thought  Mary Sue, but she would lie for Arion’s sake.  She tried to reply that she wanted to be any place where Arion was but found she could only tell the truth: “I wish I were back in my own world,” she said.  And they all applauded and yelled “Truth!” but Arion looked as though she had cut him to the quick with a sharp knife.  Thorin and Gandalf looked concerned.  Mary Sue’s forfeit was to sing a silly English song and she made them all laugh with a rousing chorus of _Knees Up, Mother Brown_.

 

Gandalf next, thought Olorien.  “Gandalf,” he said, and everyone cheered.  “Has there ever been anything between you and Galadriel” – and he paused for a moment – “a married woman?”

 

Without hesitation, Gandalf answered “No!”  And the assembled company, thinking of the beauteous Galadriel and looking at the ancient wizard before them were inclined to believe him.  But, Elrond lifted his finger and waggled it at him as if to a naughty child and, taking the hint, they all yelled “Liar!”

 

Gandalf couldn’t believe what Elrond had just done and he threw him an angry look.  But Elrond merely replied calmly: “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”  Something was going on, thought Gandalf, and if he didn’t stop this soon, there would be trouble.

 

But, in the meantime, he had to pay a forfeit.  “Do a magic trick, Gandalf!” they all cried.  And Gandalf sent a great blast of light out from his staff that blinded them for several minutes and made their ears ring rather uncomfortably.  Well, they won’t ask me again in a hurry, he thought.

 

But now Olorien had turned his attentions to the mead-drinking Glorfindel and the elf lord smiled amiably.  He was the sort of upright person who always told the truth anyway and the game held no fears for him.

 

“Looking around the room, Glorfindel,” said Olorien, “which of the ladies present would you most like to sleep with?”  Even unused as he was to telling lies, the elf lord realised that now was the time to tell one.  Swift as lightning, he ran through his mind the various options.  He could say that they were all so beautiful that it was pointless to think about it.  Or that whatever lady he chose was bound to be in love with her husband and so it was a waste of time.  Or that – and this was a good one – he was secretly in love with a woman back in Elrond’s court and so gave no thought to any other.  He tried to say this last, but found himself only capable of telling the truth.  “Tauriel,” he said.

 

The guests all yelled “Truth!” and Thorin was half up from his seat and about to challenge Glorfindel for the insult that had been offered him.  But he hesitated as he realised that something was badly wrong.  And he glanced at Gandalf and read the same thought in the other’s face.

 

Seeing the hesitation in Thorin, Olorien stirred some more.

 

“And which of these lovely ladies here present would you NOT sleep with?” asked the alchemist with an unpleasant smile.

 

Glorfindel struggled with his answer for a moment and then the truth forced its way to his lips again:  “That’s easy.  Given the chance, I would sleep with them all.”

 

The ladies let out little moans and fanned their suddenly pink cheeks.  But their husbands, showing less restraint and understanding than Thorin, rose as one from their seats and, with a roar, drew their swords.

 

But Thorin and Gandalf were ready for them.  They jumped on the table in front of Glorfindel and protected him with sword and magic staff.

 

“Stay back, you fools!” cried Gandalf in a great voice.  “There is some trickery afoot here!  Would you shed blood at a wedding?”  And the group of husbands backed away, looking confused.

 

And, suddenly, Thorin’s sword was at Olorien’s throat.  “Up to your tricks again, Olorien?” he asked. 

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about!” snorted the elf indignantly.

 

And then Thorin invited him – politely – to drain Glorfindel’s cup of mead and then he asked him again:  “What have you been up to, Olorien?”

 

“I put a truth serum into the mead,” responded the elf sulkily.  “And now, even I can speak nothing but the truth.”  An angry growl ran through the crowd.  “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he snapped.  “It was only meant to be a bit of fun.”

 

“So, what shall we do with him, Elrond?” Thorin asked.

 

“I suppose,” sighed Elrond reluctantly, “that I had better take him home with me.  I shan’t let him set up a laboratory at my court and I shall teach him how better to behave.”

 

“And, in the meantime,” laughed Thorin, getting down from the table, “I think we’ll persuade him to drink mead for the rest of this celebration and pump him with interesting questions about his private life.  Then he’ll learn whether or not truth serums are just a bit of fun.”

 

The wedding ended on a merry note, except that Mary Sue had to spend a lot of time reassuring Arion that she truly loved him even though she yearned to be back home at times.  Frodo sat down with them.  “Thorin and I feel the same about Middle-earth,” he said.  “It doesn’t mean that he loves any of you the less just because he sometimes wishes that he were back there.”  And soon the problem between them was all resolved.

 

In bed that night, Thorin asked Tauriel if the truth serum had worn off yet.

 

“No,” she said smilingly, with her fingers crossed behind her back.  “And that’s the truth.”

 

“Well,” said Thorin, getting comfortable in her arms, “”Do you love me more than anyone else in the whole world?”

 

“Of course I do,” she whispered, giving him a kiss.

 

“And do you think that I am better-looking than Glorfindel,” he asked.

 

“Of course you are,” she replied.

 

“Liar!” he murmured huskily.  But he kissed her anyway and went to sleep in her arms.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“You know,” said Evanuil.  “I only wrote the half of that.  The way this laptop is beginning to take over is very worrying.”_

_“Well, at least it believes in happy endings and dealing out proper punishment where it’s due,” said Thorin, “so perhaps we shouldn’t worry about things too much yet.”_

_“And, by the way,” said Tauriel.  “Did you have a good honeymoon?”_

_“Lovely,” said Evanuil._

_“Well, there you go,” she said.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Object of Desire.
> 
>  
> 
> We continue with our Celebrity Crush theme. Thorin and Tauriel get to spend more time with Glorfindel. Can Thorin come to terms with Tauriel’s starry-eyed response to the elf lord? Or shall we need a third episode before everything is resolved? A third episode would be nice, I think, LOL!
> 
>  
> 
> And if you’re still reading along after all these chapters and you’re still enjoying this, please review.


	44. Thorin and the Object of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since that incident with the truth serum in the last chapter, Glorfindel’s status seems to have changed from that of Celebrity Crush to Valinor’s Most Hated, LOL. Poor chap. Will he manage to redeem himself in this episode, or will Thorin be forever glowering at him?

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Object of Desire

 

Pt I

 

The day after Evanuil and Favreen’s wedding, Thorin and Tauriel went home.  But, that afternoon, they were surprised when Frodo came visiting.

 

“Come in,” said Tauriel.  “Are you staying with Bilbo?”

 

“No,” Frodo replied.  “I was wondering if I could write a story on your laptop.”

 

“Of course you can,” said Thorin.  “But, don’t forget that the laptop can take over and you might not get the story you want.”

 

“I’m fine with that,” was the hobbit’s response, “but I’d just like to write a story where Glorfindel stays on here for a bit now that the wedding is over.”

 

“Oh,” muttered Thorin and he glanced sideways at Tauriel to see if she was exhibiting any sign of pleasure or excitement.

 

“What’s the matter?” asked Frodo in surprise.  “Don’t you like him?  I can’t imagine why not.  He’s a very fine – not to mention lovely - person and it was wonderful to see him at the wedding.  Being in his company really lifted my heart.”

 

And it lifted the hearts of all the women too, thought Thorin grumpily.

 

“You should have seen him at the Ford of Bruinen,” the hobbit continued, his face lighting up.  “I thought I was going to die but then he appeared and confronted the Dark Riders.”  He shivered.  “I don’t know how he did it because their presence paralysed me with fear.  But Glorfindel seemed to shine with a terrible power – he was awesome!  And now, when I’m with him, I feel a connection.  I don’t want him to go back with Elrond yet and so I thought I could write a story where he stays for a bit of a break and he and I just have a nice chat together.”

 

“So, you’d keep him down in the harbour area?” asked Thorin.  “I wouldn’t mind that.”

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” sighed Tauriel.  “The poor chap will begin to feel that he’s done something wrong.  I shall go down and visit him if you remain so mean-spirited.”

 

Thorin nearly said: “Well, I’d rather you didn’t,” until he realised that this was just provocative and more likely to send his wife speeding off to the harbour.  And so he gnawed his lip and said nothing.  But, he wondered why Tauriel didn’t understand how inadequate this handsome and splendid elf made every other husband feel.  And, more importantly, Glorfindel had acknowledged that, out of all the women in the area, Tauriel was the one he would most like to take to his bed.  When he had said that, the dwarf had shown incredible restraint.  He had even defended him from the wrath of the other husbands.  But was this gesture appreciated?  No.  The elf lord was being thrust in their way instead.

 

But, there was nothing he could do about it without causing more arguments.  And so he pushed the laptop across the table and Tauriel nodded in approval.

 

They both peered over Frodo’s shoulder to read the title of his story:

 

Thorin and the Object of Desire.

 

_(“Well, I don’t fancy that,” remarked Thorin.  “Who or what is this ‘object of desire’?  Glorfindel, more than likely.”_

_“Sorry,” said Frodo.  “It sort of just popped out.”_

_It’s always a bit disturbing, thought the dwarf, when things just ‘pop out’ of this laptop but he gestured to Frodo to continue.)_

Elrond had decided to set out for home the day after the wedding with Olorien in tow.  Thranduil was also ready to return but had a particular problem: a thaw had set in overnight and not enough snow was left for his sleigh to travel on.  Glorfindel had a suggestion to make to both of them.

 

“Frodo wants me to stay for a few days,” he said.  “So, I’m willing to let Olorien ride Asfaloth whilst I remain here.”

 

“That’s very generous,” exclaimed Frodo.  “I wouldn’t want such a fine creature to be ridden by a scoundrel like Olorien.”

 

Glorfindel gave one of his radiant smiles.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “I think it’s a case of whether the rider is in charge of the horse or the horse in charge of the rider and I definitely think that Asfaloth will be in charge.  He might even teach Olorien a few lessons.”

 

“So, how will you get back to us?” asked Elrond.

 

Glorfindel looked towards Thranduil: “Well, if the king doesn’t mind, I could ride with him on his sleigh once there’s another fall of snow.  A blizzard is expected in a day or two, I believe.”

 

The powerful elf lord was one of the few people who had ever impressed Thranduil and so he was willing to be accommodating.  “We can travel together as far as my palace and then you’re welcome to use it all the way back to Elrond’s court,” he said.  “My driver can return it to me after dropping you off.”  For this unusual act of generosity, he was rewarded with a gracious and grateful bow and Thranduil looked forward to spending time with this influential person over the next few days.  Why, Glorfindel could almost be his equal!

 

Then Frodo suggested that Glorfindel move into Bilbo’s old home, next to his own, which rather annoyed Thranduil who tried to persuade the elf lord that a better option would be to share one of the tree houses with him instead.  But when Glorfindel was shown how cosy and comfortable the wooden house was, he accepted Frodo’s suggestion with alacrity.  “I’m looking forward to spending time with you, Frodo,” he said earnestly.  “I have so many questions to ask you about the War of the Ring – so many things I would like to share.”  And Frodo felt as though here was someone who would understand if he chose to unburden himself.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“I would like to go down and visit Glorfindel,” said Tauriel stiffly, “either with you or without you.”

 

“And I would much rather you didn’t,” replied Thorin.

 

“I can imagine that no-one will visit him unless we lead by example,” said the elf, her voice taking on a wheedling tone.  “After all, he is an honoured member of our race and it’s not as if he’s DONE anything to deserve being snubbed by us all.”

 

“It’s not so much what he’s DONE!  It’s what all of us know is going on in his head that’s the problem,” growled Thorin indignantly.  “After taking that truth serum, he acknowledged that he would like to sleep with all the women in the area and, in particular, he would like to sleep with YOU!  How would you like it if I forced you to socialise with a bunch of women who you knew were lusting after ME!”

 

Tauriel broke into a fit of the giggles.  “But, Thorin,” she laughed, “just about every woman I know lusts after you.  It doesn’t make me jealous – I just feel so lucky that you chose me!”

 

The dwarf huffed for a moment and folded his arms.  Then he looked at his wife coyly from under his dark lashes.  “Do women really lust after me?” he said. 

 

“Yes,” she whispered, kissing him on the nose.  “They have immense difficulty keeping their hands off you, so handsome as you are and with all your wonderful hair.”

 

Thorin was trying not to look too pleased.  “Oh, well, alright, then,” he said at last.  “I suppose I can manage one visit………  But only one,” he glowered.

 

“This afternoon?” asked Tauriel.  “It might snow later.”

 

.o00o.

 

Frodo was fussing around Glorfindel, clearing away after lunch.  He had spent such an enjoyable morning with him, talking about the burden of the Ring and the difficulties he had experienced on his return to Hobbiton.  The elf lord really seemed to understand: after all, he had ‘returned’ in a rather big way himself after dying and being re-embodied.  Frodo felt as if he, too, had died on that perilous journey and he had somehow never felt a part of Middle-earth thereafter.  The two of them had talked far into the previous night and, now that he was staying on for a few days, the hobbit felt a huge contentment that the two of them would be able to talk further.

 

He smiled to himself, however, as he looked across at Glorfindel from his little kitchen recess.  Here indeed, was a being that didn’t really fit in.  His delightful, cosy home seemed much too small to contain such a creature: so ethereally beautiful, so tall, so serene and totally exuding power.  There was that odd light that seemed to shine about him; but, the more you stared, the more difficult it seemed to pin down.  And this remarkable elf lord was his friend and had been offering comfort and consolation with such incredible warmth and affection.  He seemed to manage the almost impossible task of being distant and aloof but also of drawing close to touch the hobbit’s heart.

 

He had just made a nice pot of camomile tea and was looking forward to another intimate coze, when there came a knock at the door.  Although Frodo begrudged the interruption, he was also pleased that they had a visitor because no-one had bothered since the wedding and he was concerned that Glorfindel had really blotted his copy-book after that unfortunate incident with the truth serum.

 

But, it was only Thranduil.  Frodo sighed.  The elven king was such a bore.  His arrogance was difficult to cope with and, if it hadn’t been for Glorfindel, he was sure that the elf wouldn’t have bothered with him.  Now he swept into the room and sat himself down in the very spot next to Glorfindel that Frodo had hoped to occupy himself.

 

“Tea?” he asked, with a certain sharp edge to his voice.

 

“But, of course, my dear hobbit,” said the elf in that snooty way of his.  “And a slice of cake, if you would be so kind.”  And then he turned his back on him and began gossiping with Glorfindel.

 

If Frodo hadn’t been such a nice person, he would have been fuming.  Instead, he grinned to himself and poured another cup of tea.  And then he cut a slice of cake which he offered to Thranduil with an obsequious bow.  “Your majesty,” he said.  And the amusing thing was, Thranduil accepted the bow, the obsequiousness and the title as his due and failed to notice the hint of sarcasm.  No wonder he irritates Thorin so much, thought the hobbit.  But, if you could laugh at him, then it certainly helped.

 

“Glorfindel,” Thranduil was saying with a rather unctuous air, “once we reach my mansion – very beautiful, you know, and overlooking the sea – there really is no reason for you to hurry off.  You must stay with me for a few days before you continue on your journey.  It would give me great pleasure to introduce you to my Mirkwood companions and I’m sure that you and I shall find so much to talk about.  We have a lot in common, don’t you think?”

 

“You think so?” said Glorfindel faintly.  And he edged back in his seat a little.

 

“Oh, yes, I know so,” said Thranduil, trying to inject a touch of warmth into his normally icy smile.

 

But not quite managing, thought Frodo.

 

“So – tell me about these things we have in common,” asked the great elf lord.

 

Is he just being polite or is he playing with him, wondered the hobbit?  Playing with him, he concluded.

 

“Well,” said Thranduil, ticking off a list, “we are both powerful elf lords and we are both great warriors.”

 

“Ah, yes,” smiled Glorfindel, “that is true.  Although,” and he hesitated politely, “I don’t believe that a dwarf has ever sent me flying face first into a muddy puddle and I don’t think I’ve ever been beaten in hand-to-hand combat by a grandmother and mother of three.”

 

Frodo nearly choked on his cup of tea and Glorfindel gave him a little pat on the back.  “Careful, there,” he said.

 

Thranduil was looking irritated but he pressed on.  “And we have both played a major role in the defence of Middle-earth.”

 

“True,” murmured Glorfindel – and Thranduil looked pleased – “although, as I remember, you did imprison a certain dwarf and his companions who were on their way to destroy Smaug, a potential ally of Sauron.  If they hadn’t escaped, that could have caused a problem.”

 

“Oh,” said Thranduil with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “It was Bard who killed Smaug which made their quest a bit irrelevant and I’m great friends with Thorin now.”

 

Frodo and Glorfindel grinned across the room at each other.  And before Thranduil could continue with his list, there was another knock at the door.

 

“It’s Thorin!” exclaimed Frodo, peering out of the window.

 

“How wonderful,” smiled Glorfindel at Thranduil.  “It’s your best friend!”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“And he’s got Tauriel with him,” added Frodo.  And Thranduil, who had felt rather annoyed at the news, perked up a bit.  Glorfindel looked slightly apprehensive.  “Don’t worry,” whispered the hobbit reassuringly, not knowing that the couple had just had yet another row about the elf lord as they came down the hill.  “Thorin has a very forgiving nature.”

 

“You think so?” Glorfindel whispered back. 

 

“Of course,” smiled Frodo.  “Why else would he be here?”  And he hurried to open the door.

 

“Dearest Tauriel!” exclaimed Thranduil with an elaborate bow and a kiss to her hand.  “What a wonderfully unexpected reunion!”  Then, “Thorin,” he added, nodding curtly to the dwarf.

 

“Thorin, son of Thrain,” said Glorfindel stepping forward and giving him a warm smile.  “I was afraid I wouldn’t get the opportunity to see you again before I set out once more.”  And then he turned towards Tauriel and taking her lightly by her fingertips, he breathed the faintest kiss upon them.  “Tauriel,” he said politely.

 

That’s right, thought Thorin bad-temperedly.  Stay well back or this visit will be briefer than Tauriel anticipated.

 

Then Tauriel was politely shown to a seat first whilst the others looked at each other to see which of them should have the honour of sitting next to her.

 

“Glorfindel!” she cried, reaching up to him and taking him by the hand.  “You must sit by me.  We had so little opportunity to chat at the wedding.”  And she pulled him down upon the sofa.

 

“Now, Thranduil, you naughty boy,” she continued, reaching up her other hand, “I didn’t expect to see you here.  You must sit on my other side so that we can have a good gossip.  And, Thorin, you must sit over there next to Frodo.  I’m sure you two have a lot to say to each other.”  And she gave Thorin an challenging look whilst he glared back at her.

 

“ _Have_ we got a lot to say to each other?” murmured Frodo with a grin.  “Or will you be too busy guarding your wife?”

 

“Frodo,” grunted Thorin in response, “what is it about hobbits that makes them so perceptive?”  And Frodo laughed and got up to make more refreshments.

 

.o00o.

 

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.  Thranduil had his arm around the back of the sofa so that his fingers just grazed Tauriel’s hair; and he leaned in closely to her, whispering in her ear whilst she giggled.  He felt in a provocative mood today.  And what could Thorin do about it with so many others in the room?  But Glorfindel was sitting as far away from the beautiful elf as possible, squeezed into a corner, making sure that their knees had no chance of touching.  Ah yes, thought Thorin.  Very good.  But what are you _thinking_?

 

“Thorin,” said Thranduil with his aloof gaze, “what are you doing here today?  I thought you would be busy sweeping up the rubbish at the Moot Hall.  You’re so good at that sort of thing – I sometimes think you were made for it.”

 

Thranduil’s cutting remarks were always so unexpected that Thorin was never ready for them.  He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came.

 

“Oh,” said Glorfindel with one of his gentle smiles, “Frodo and I did that first thing this morning.  It was great fun.  You should try it some time, Thranduil.”

 

It was the elven king who was lost for words.  Thorin smiled into his beard.  I suppose I should feel gratitude, he thought, but I haven’t quite got that far yet.  And perhaps he was just trying to ingratiate himself with Tauriel.

 

“Glorfindel!” exclaimed Tauriel, taking him by the hand and squeezing it.  “How sweet of you!  It’s always us ladies who are expected to do jobs like that.”  And the elf lord couldn’t help but blush.

 

One step forward in my good opinion, thought Thorin, and two steps back.

 

Thranduil, not to be outdone, took her by the other hand and kissed the palm of her hand.  “Ah, Tauriel,” he said smoothly, “we elf lords always try to be helpful.  I, myself, shall be taking Glorfindel home in my sleigh in a few days.”

 

“Glorfindel has loaned his horse to Olorien,” volunteered Frodo.

 

“You two are both such sweeties,” said Tauriel, placing a kiss on each of their cheeks.  Thranduil gave her a hug but the elf lord glanced nervously at Thorin.

 

Stop trying to goad me, Tauriel, muttered Thorin to himself.  Just because we argued about this visit all the way down the hill.  And he clenched his fists.

 

“Have another cup of camomile tea, Thorin,” urged Frodo laughingly.  “It’s very soothing to the nerves.”  And Thorin knocked back a second cup.

 

After the tea and cakes, Tauriel got up to clear away and do the washing up.  Thranduil got up too and went to the window.  “Oh, good,” he said, “it’s snowing.  We’ll be able to go home soon.”

 

Thorin was sitting with his back to the kitchen and so didn’t see the elf king go over to Tauriel who was washing up at the sink.  He slipped his arms about her waist and, pressing himself firmly against her back, he whispered in her ear and said: “Want some help with the washing up?”  And, reaching either side of her, he picked up a plate with one hand and a cloth with the other.  Tauriel giggled.  Glorfindel caught Thorin’s eye and nodded towards the kitchen.

 

How Thorin managed to restrain himself, he didn’t know.  Glorfindel saw his knuckles whiten and decided it hadn’t been a good idea to point this particular scene out to the dwarf.  He got swiftly to his feet and moved to the sink before Thorin had a chance to react.  “Go and sit down, Tauriel,” said the elf lord quietly.  “Thranduil and I will do this.”  They both saw the disapproval in his eyes:  Thranduil wished he hadn’t been so cheeky and Tauriel wished that she hadn’t reacted so spikily to the earlier argument she had had with her husband.

 

When she turned, she saw that Frodo was studying the falling snow through the window and Thorin was staring at her with that wounded puppydog look on his face that always made her feel so guilty.  She sat down next to him and gently took his hand.  “Sorry,” she whispered.  She wished they were on their own so that they could talk it through, but it would have to wait.  She would think of an excuse soon to take their leave and go home.

 

But, Frodo turned anxiously back into the room.  “It’s turned into a raging blizzard,” he said.  “I think it’s too dangerous for you to go home, Thorin.  I reckon you need to stay here for the night.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

With Glorfindel’s stern gaze upon him, Thranduil behaved himself and made pleasant conversation.  He could be quite witty when he wanted and Thorin found himself laughing more than once throughout the supper that Frodo dished up that evening.  If only he could be like this all the time, it would be a pleasure to be in his company, he thought.

 

It was quite late when Thranduil decided it was time to return to his tree house and Glorfindel got ready to make a quick dash for his bed next door.  But they were totally shocked when they opened the door and found a giant snow drift completely blocking their exit.  It covered the doorway from top to bottom and there was no way out.

 

“I don’t think we can do anything about it tonight,” said Frodo.  “We don’t know how far it extends.”  And they pressed their noses against the windows and found that they were similarly blocked too.  “I’ve got plenty of food,” he continued, “and a million logs.  I think we’d all better bed down here.”

 

Thorin had been resigned to sleeping on a sofa but now things turned in his favour.  He and Tauriel were assigned the bed within its curtained recess, whilst the other three argued about the two sofas.  In the end, Glorfindel insisted that he was fine on the floor.  “I’ve spent hundreds of years of my life, if they were all tallied up, sleeping on the ground.  A rug on a wooden floor is a luxury in comparison.”  And, in the end, he got his way.

 

All right, said Thorin to himself, another point in your favour.  But you haven’t won me over completely yet.

 

They got ready for bed behind the curtain to the bedroom recess as quietly as possible.

 

“And don’t you take off all your clothes, Tauriel,” he whispered.  “Keep your shift on.”

 

“Why?” she said.

 

“Just because…..” was the answer.

 

Thorin felt very uncomfortable with only the curtain separating his wife from three other men and, before getting into bed, he had a quick peek.  He was very shocked to see all of them walking around quite casually absolutely naked - Thranduil and Glorfindel admittedly looking very fine and the hobbit quite cute – as they got ready for bed.

 

“What’s the matter, Thorin?” she asked, seeing his startled expression.

 

“Nothing,” he said.  “Just DON’T look.”

 

“Why?  Haven’t they got any clothes on?” she whispered.  And, when he stuttered a bit, she said with a quiet giggle: “Oh, Thorin!  I lived with a bunch of soldiers up at that outpost for years.  Don’t you think that I occasionally stumbled across the odd one in the all-together?”

 

He looked at her wide-eyed and then whispered indignantly: “No, I never thought that – and you never told me!”

 

“That’s because there was nothing to tell,” was the response.  “Now, be quiet and come to bed.”

 

So, Thorin came to bed and tried to get to sleep, but every time he nodded off, he had weird dreams about his wife involved in training exercises with a troop of naked soldiers and he woke up the next morning very tired and in a very bad temper.

 

Frodo produced an excellent breakfast and then they sat down to discuss what to do next.  They looked up the chimney and could see blue skies, so it would appear to be a sunny day.

 

“Well,” said Frodo, “I reckon the best thing to do is to wait a few hours.  A lot of the snow will melt and that’ll make it easier to get out.”  Everyone was happy with this except Thorin: he was already getting cabin fever after less than a day being stuck inside with a couple of people he didn’t especially like and the thought of spending another day with them was just too much to bear.

 

“Let’s dig our way out,” he growled.  “Have you got a spade, Frodo?”  The hobbit only had one and Thorin seized it, insisting that he was the likeliest person in the room to tunnel his way out.

 

“Be careful,” said Tauriel.  She was always saying that but he had no time for her cautions today.  He dug at speed and expected to come to the end of the drift a few feet outside the door.  But he dug on and on and there seemed no end to it.  Tauriel and the others waited anxiously on the threshold.

 

“Does he know what he’s doing?” asked Frodo.

 

“I’m not sure,” replied Tauriel.  “It’s not exactly a mine or a hobbit hole where you can use pit props.”  And, at her words, there was a loud ‘crump’ and the icy ceiling collapsed down upon the dwarf so that he disappeared completely.

 

“Thorin!” screamed Tauriel and she stood frozen in the doorway.  But Glorfindel calmly took her by the shoulders and moved her to one side.  Then he dug quickly with his hands until he felt a boot and, seizing it firmly, he pulled the dwarf out from under the snow.  They placed his unconscious form on the sofa and Glorfindel, tearing open his shirt, listened to his heart.  “It’s not beating,” he said.

 

“And his lips are turning blue,” murmured Frodo.

 

Glorfindel pinched Thorin’s nose closed and began breathing into his mouth and, finally, the dwarf twitched and jerked and opened his eyes.  For a moment, his confused mind shot back to the incident when he had accidentally got into bed with Lostwithiel and had finished up kissing him.  “Pah!” he said in disgust, pushing Glorfindel away and rubbing the back of his hand across his lips.

 

“Thorin,” said Tauriel gently, “the snow collapsed and Glorfindel has just saved your life.”  Frodo had poured him a cup of tea and, helping him into a sitting position, now encouraged him to take a sip.

 

“He’ll be grateful when he’s recovered,” said Tauriel quietly to Glorfindel.  “I certainly am.”  And she gave the elf a kiss on the cheek.

 

Then Thranduil called from the doorway and, when they went to examine the tunnel that Thorin had been digging, they found that the fall of snow had opened up a way out and they could see the sky.  Leaving Thorin behind on the couch, they all scrambled outside, where they discovered that the strong wind off the sea had created great drifts up against all buildings facing that way but that, otherwise, the snow was not as deep as they had imagined.

 

“I think we can set out for home in this,” said Thranduil.  “I’m just going to the tree house to pack my bags.”

 

Glorfindel turned to Frodo to thank him for his hospitality.  “But, before I go,” he said to Tauriel, “I think that Thorin and I need to have a few quiet words together.”  And Tauriel nodded in agreement.

 

Glorfindel sat opposite Thorin and the dwarf put down his cup of tea.  “I suppose,” said the elf, “that one way of dealing with things is just to pretend that they didn’t happen.”

 

“Good idea,” grunted Thorin.

 

“Or,” he continued, “we could talk about it.”

 

“I get enough of that with Tauriel,” the dwarf muttered.

 

“But, that’s my preference,” said the elf, and Thorin shrugged.

 

“I know,” said Glorfindel, “that Olorien called it a truth serum, but that’s not how I see it.”

 

“It made you tell the truth,” growled Thorin.  “You said you lusted after Tauriel.  What else would you call it?”

 

Glorfindel sighed and looked directly at Thorin and Thorin looked back and saw that his eyes were wise and kind.  “Your wife is very beautiful,” he said.  “And so is your daughter and so is your granddaughter.  And so are all the other women that were at the wedding feast.  And, if someone asks me to consider their attractiveness and whether or not I would be prepared to sleep with them, then, the answer from deep down in my gut is ‘yes’.  Would you prefer me to say ‘never in a hundred years’?  And, which answer is the more insulting?”

 

Thorin studied his fingers and didn’t reply.

 

“It doesn’t mean that such thoughts are at the forefront of my mind or that I was even aware of such thoughts before I was asked in the first place.”  And then he grinned.  “And, unlike some people I’m sure we could mention, I have no desire to flirt with Tauriel nor am I planning to abduct her so that I can have my wicked way with her.”  He paused once more and, when Thorin still didn’t reply, he continued: “I would like to consider her as a beautiful friend.  And I would count myself lucky if she returned that friendship.  And, even more, I would count myself lucky if her husband would also consider me a friend too.”

 

Still there was silence.

 

“And the only strong feeling I have when I think about you and Tauriel is one of extreme envy because you won her heart.”

 

Thorin looked up at last.  And then he gave the elf lord a wry smile.  “Gandalf said you were mighty in wisdom,” he replied.  “And he told the truth.”  Slowly he held out his hand and they grasped each other’s forearms warmly.  “Thank you for saving my life,” he said.  “I am lucky in more ways than one.”

 

A few hours later, they were waving Thranduil and Glorfindel goodbye.  “I don’t envy Glorfindel being stuck in a sleigh with Thranduil for hours,” laughed Thorin as they swept out of sight.

 

“Oh,” grinned Frodo, “but didn’t you know?  They have SO much in common!”  And the little hobbit urged his friends back into his home for second breakfast before they set out themselves.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Good bloke, that Glorfindel,” grunted Thorin as Frodo closed the lap top.  “He was served a nasty turn by that Olorien.”_

_Tauriel kissed his cheek.  “I’m glad you like him,” she said._

_“Yes,” continued her husband, “I sometimes learn a lot from these stories, I’m glad to say.”_

_Then he turned to a smiling Frodo.  “It’s good you got the chance to speak to him, you know.  I’m sure he was a great help.”  And he noticed that much of the sadness had disappeared from the hobbit’s eyes._

_Tauriel put her arms about their shoulders and gave them both a hug.  “After all that excitement, I think it’s time for another cup of tea, don’t you think?” she said._

_But, later that night, as they lay in bed, Tauriel wrinkled her brow and asked: “So who do you think was the Object of Desire?  Glorfindel?”_

_“No, you’re my Object of Desire,” murmured Thorin in her ear.  And I desire you this very minute.”_

_“I’m glad about that,” whispered the elf.  And she took him gently in her arms.)_

.o00o.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Lady of Lorien. This trio of stories about celebrity crushes continues on into its final chapter. Has Thorin really come to grips about what these crushes are all about? Yes, he likes Glorfindel now, but does he fully understand Tauriel’s response or is he still jealous? And does that mean he would like to get a bit of his own back?


	45. Thorin and the Lady of Lorien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the last story in the trilogy about celebrity crushes: will Thorin get his own back? Well, I think he’ll at least try, LOL! ( Just edited: I apologise for initially using the wrong title and causing confusion.)

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

 Thorin and the Lady of Lorien

 

Pt I

 

Thorin had been tossing and turning in bed for much of the night.  Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, he got up and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.  He took it to a chair in front of the dying fire and sipped it glumly.

 

Yes, he was glad that he had come to terms with Glorfindel.  He was a good bloke.  It wasn’t his fault that he attracted so much attention from every woman who crossed his path – including Tauriel.  No wonder the poor chap hid himself away at Elrond’s court.  But what he DID find difficult to handle was the way that all these women made no secret of the fact that they found the elf lord attractive, not keeping it even from their husbands.  Surely it would be less hurtful – less damaging to their husbands’ egos – if they lusted after him in silence so that the husbands had no idea as to what was going on in their heads?  And he thought about Tauriel.

 

She had openly told him that she found Glorfindel very attractive and almost seemed to think that he would laugh at the fact that she was ogling another man.  Yes, all the women had been very giggly about him, as if their jokes and good humour about the situation somehow made it all right.  And he remembered his own daughter, Poppy, standing right next to her husband and saying: “He can have me any time.”  She was very lucky that Lostwithiel took it in such good spirit.  But, personally, he was quite shocked.  And he wondered what Tauriel had said to her girlfriends behind his back.  She had called him an old fuddy-duddy and he wondered if he were.

 

But, the thing that bothered him most of all was the thought that Tauriel might dream about Glorfindel or even fantasise about him when they made love.  They had waved the elf lord and Thranduil off a few days earlier and they had then come home to an intense session of love-making.  And he wondered if it was him or thoughts of Glorfindel that had been stoking Tauriel’s passion.  He had tried to talk about it in a general way to Lostwithiel but the elf had only laughed and said that any husband on the receiving end should make the most of it.  But he couldn’t be as relaxed about the whole affair as his son-in-law who, he guessed, had a different relationship with Poppy than he had with Tauriel.

 

These thoughts were beginning to spoil his interaction with his wife and he wondered if there was anything he could do about it: something that would somehow make it a much more level playing-field, so to speak.  Finally, he got up and went to the dining table and pulled the laptop towards him.  When in doubt, write a story about it, he thought.  Then he typed a title and started with his tale:

 

Thorin and the Lady of Lorien

 

It was Bilbo’s turn on the rota to make breakfast for everyone and, since Frodo had come up the hill to stay with him, it was all a bit of a squash.  But, Bilbo’s breakfasts were worth it!  They were just polishing off the last slices of toast when Bilbo looked up and said to Thorin:  “Frodo tells me that you and Glorfindel are now good friends.  I’m really pleased about that.  Olorien’s truth serum caused an awful lot of trouble and I wouldn’t want his nasty trick to be successful in any way.”

 

“The trouble is,” said Thorin a little grumpily, “we husbands were already primed and ready for trouble even before the truth serum was used because the ladies were all fawning over Glorfindel in the first place.”

 

“Oh, come on,” sighed Tauriel, “don’t start up about that again.”

 

“Well,” muttered Arion, “my father isn’t alone in this.  Me and Beren were pretty upset too at the way our wives behaved.”

 

Lostwithiel didn’t say anything but winked cheekily at Poppy who grinned back.

 

“But I can’t help but mention it,” snapped Thorin, “because I don’t understand.  It would never occur to me to ogle another woman.  And why?   Because I’m in love with Tauriel.”

 

“Ah, that’s because,” said Poppy rather smugly, “we’re the best-looking women for miles around and so there’s no competition.”

 

“Are you saying,” said Arion indignantly to his sister, “that we men are an unattractive lot and so it’s easy for you all to be turned on by others more handsome?”

 

“Of course she’s not,” soothed Mary Sue.  “You’re all incredibly handsome but Glorfindel is a high elf and so it’s not surprising that he gave you guys a run for your money.”

 

And then Bilbo produced another pot of tea and quickly changed the subject.

 

After they had all gone home, Thorin still sat by the fireside chatting with Bilbo and his nephew.  “Thanks for changing the subject, Bilbo,” he sighed.  “Things were getting a bit heated but I have a feeling that the subject just won’t go away.  The ladies are right.  They have no competition and so they can always be confident that they will have their husbands’ full attention and they’ll never understand what they’ve put us through.”

 

“That’s true,” said Frodo. “They’re a fine bunch of women, especially your wife, and I can only think of one other I have ever met who is more beautiful than Tauriel.”

 

Thorin looked up with interest.

 

“Galadriel, the Lady of Lorien,” supplied Frodo.  “She is not only very beautiful but she has a special something that really draws you in.  When our Fellowship stayed in Lothlorien, I think we all fell in love with her.  Even Gimli has an incredible passion for her and he’ll fight anyone who says she’s not the most beautiful creature who ever lived.”

 

“Doesn’t Legolas mind?” laughed Thorin.

 

“No, because he has also fallen under her spell,” was the response.  “But, have you never met her?” he continued.  “She was on the last ship from the Grey Havens.”

 

“I was too focussed on the arrival of Arion, Poppy and Rosie to notice anyone else,” smiled Thorin.  “And I’m pretty confident that, even if I met her, she wouldn’t enchant me.  Tauriel is my life, you know.  I would never look at another woman.”

 

 “Well, if you’re curious,” grinned Frodo, “you may have your chance.  Gimli and I are keen to meet her again.  I shall be travelling in a few days along the coast to Thranduil’s palace.  I shall pick up Gimli there and go on to Galadriel’s domain which lies in a lovely forest, up in the foothills some distance further on.  Perhaps you and Tauriel would like to come with us.  It would pass the time, don’t you think?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Tauriel was very excited at the prospect of meeting Galadriel.  “I’ve heard so much about her, but we were pretty cut off in Mirkwood and, many ages past, Thranduil wasn’t on the best of terms with the Lady or her husband, Celeborn.”

 

And Thorin was very intrigued at the thought of seeing Galadriel too.  Would she enchant him?  Would she stir him?  Would he make odious comparisons between her and Tauriel where Tauriel lost out?

 

And so, in a couple of days, they and Frodo mounted their horses and set out along the coast road.  It was still very cold and there was snow on the ground but the sun was shining from a blue sky and more snow was not predicted for several weeks.

 

“It’s only Gimli who has decided to come with us,” Frodo said.  “He’d never pass up a chance of seeing Galadriel again.  Legolas is staying behind because, as a Sinda, he still feels a tad uncomfortable with all those Noldor elves but don’t be surprised if Thranduil doesn’t force his company upon us.  He likes to think that he and Galadriel have got a thing going on.”  And Frodo chuckled.

 

All the fun went out of Thorin’s day and he had a sinking feeling as he contemplated spending yet more time with the elven king.

 

“But, what about her husband, Celeborn?” asked Tauriel in surprise.   “Doesn’t he object to Thranduil eyeing up his wife?”

 

“Oh, didn’t you know?” said Frodo. “Celeborn has stayed behind in Middle-earth.  He really loves the place.  I expect he’ll turn up one way or another in a hundred years or so, but, at the moment Galadriel’s on her own.”

 

“Sounds as though he really loves his wife,” commented Thorin sarcastically.

 

“He probably does,” smiled Frodo, “but he and Galadriel are thousands of years old and don’t think the same way as we do.”

 

“Probably went off sex after having his first child,” Thorin continued to mutter.  “Some elves do that, you know.”

 

“Oh, really?” said Frodo with interest.  “No, I didn’t know that.  You must tell me more about it.”

 

And so, over the next 10 miles, he and Thorin had an in depth conversation about the sexual failings of elves and, in comparison, the sexual prowess of dwarves, whilst Tauriel shook her head.

 

“My, my,” said Frodo at last.  “You’ve told me so many fascinating facts that I think I shall write a book about it: _The Sexual Habits and Mores of Elves and Dwarves_.  Something to keep me occupied for the rest of the winter, perhaps.”

 

“I would take some things he says with a pinch of salt, Frodo,” laughed Tauriel.  “After all, I haven’t gone off sex and neither has Lostwithiel.  And all that dwarven stuff he’s been giving you about four times a night – well, perhaps he’s telling it all from a rather biased point of view.”

 

Frodo looked a bit disappointed: he thought he was getting the absolute truth straight out of the horse’s mouth.  But, then he cheered up.  “I suppose I can travel around for the next six months on an investigative tour, finding out information for my book,” he said.  “That should be entertaining.”

 

“You can talk to me any time, Frodo,” offered Thorin.  “Take no notice of Tauriel.  What I don’t know about love wouldn’t even fill half a page.”  And he smiled smugly into his beard.

 

“And what he DOES know about love,” laughed Tauriel, “is just limited to his experiences with me.  He’s a one-woman dwarf.”

 

“And shouldn’t you be grateful for that,” muttered her husband.

 

.o00o.

 

They arrived at Thranduil’s palace later that afternoon.  Legolas and Gimli came out to meet them and Thorin felt pleased to see the two of them even though he wasn’t overwhelmed at the thought of meeting up with Thranduil again.  However, they were staying the night and even Thorin knew it was incumbent upon all of them to be polite to their host.

 

They descended from their rooms for dinner in the early evening and Thranduil gestured Thorin and Tauriel into seats either side of him.  “How wonderful to see you – both – again,” he murmured as he turned towards Tauriel.  “My son tells me that you are all going to visit Galadriel.  My!” and he sighed. “What an amazing woman!”  Then he turned towards Thorin: “We are very close you know, she and I.”

 

“So I’ve heard,” said Thorin with a twitch of his lips.

 

“You’ve heard?” said the king, raising an eyebrow in languid surprise.  “But, of course.  Our relationship is certainly a noteworthy one.  But, sadly, dear Thorin,” he continued, “she is not totally enamoured of dwarves.”

 

“Not true!” snapped Gimli.  “She is a noble lady who treats all the same and with remarkable courtesy.”

 

“Ah, yes,” continued Thranduil smoothly, realising that he had trodden on the toes of his son’s best friend, “I heard tell that you had a very special relationship with her, Gimli.”

 

“Her relationship with everyone is special,” snarled the dwarf, “for she looks into each and every heart and reads what is written there.”

 

“And,” sighed Thranduil with his hand upon his breast, “she has truly looked into my heart and read it as I have read hers.”

 

Gimli was unhappy with this response and felt an insult hidden in there somewhere towards his Lady.  But, he bit his tongue.  Soon they would be on their way and Thranduil would be far behind.

 

But Thranduil spoiled that happy thought.  He steepled his long, elegant fingers and said: “I have a mind to see the fair Lady of Lorien once more.  I think I shall go with you.”  And Thorin grimaced.  “We can use my sleigh,” Thranduil continued.  “There is still plenty of snow on the ground and it is not only very comfortable but takes up to six passengers.”

 

And Tauriel clapped her hands together at the thought.  “That would be wonderful,” she exclaimed.  “I’ve never ridden in a sleigh before and yours looks so completely snug.”

 

Thorin didn’t like the idea of the elven king doing them any favours but he had to admit that the sleigh would make their journey an awful lot easier.  And so he grunted: “Very kind of you.”  Then he slept a bit better in his soft bed that night when it occurred to him that at least Thranduil’s attention would be on the beautiful Galadriel and not on his wife.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

And so it was the next day, whilst Thranduil’s retainers packed their luggage into the rear of the sleigh, that they all climbed aboard the elegant vehicle.  Gimli and Frodo sat in the front seat whilst Thorin, Tauriel and the king were left to arrange themselves along the wider seat behind. 

 

But now Thorin was presented with a problem: would it be better to let Tauriel sit in the middle which would give Thranduil the opportunity to cuddle up intimately against his wife; or should he himself sit in the middle with Thranduil’s thigh pressed up hard against his own?  And, if he did that, would it seem petty, as if he trusted neither the elven king nor his wife?  Well, he didn’t trust the elf – that was true – but at least Thranduil’s thoughts were currently turned towards the Lady of Lorien.  This is what finally decided Thorin that his wife should sit in the obvious position, in the middle – that and the fact that Tauriel was already climbing in next to the king.

 

The retainers then brought out luxurious fur blankets which they tucked around the laps and knees of the passengers.  “Lovely!” sighed Tauriel. 

 

The sleigh pulled away smoothly and Thorin kept a close eye on Thranduil’s hands, currently resting on the furs, but which, he guessed, might so easily disappear beneath to get up to who-knew-what mischief.

 

But the elven king seemed more interested at the moment in talking about his relationship with Galadriel.  “During the War of the Ring, you know, Sauron sent his armies to burn down Mirkwood.”  And, for the first time ever, Thorin saw real emotion and pain in Thranduil’s eyes.  “I joined forces  with Celeborn and we destroyed them all.  Galadriel followed after, threw down the walls of Dol Guldur and laid bare its pits.  She was magnificent!  When I greeted her after the battle, a spark leapt between us: there was a connection.  We have had a special relationship ever since.”  And the elf lord let out a sensuous purr.

 

Very likely, thought Thorin, surreptitiously rolling his eyes but Tauriel seemed to be hanging on every word.  “Oh, if only I had been there,” she exclaimed, her eyes glowing.

 

The sleigh continued smoothly on its way for hours and, at last, its passengers began to get tired.  Gimli and Frodo were snoring gently on the front seat and Tauriel leaned her head on Thorin’s shoulder, slipping her hand under the furs to rest upon his thigh.  As far as Thorin could see, Thranduil was behaving himself but the hand on his thigh was very tantalising and he was almost glad when his wife eventually dozed off and the hand slid away to the seat.

 

At last they reached Galadriel’s woods which she had named, once more, Lothlorien, in memory of her old home.  The sleigh slid silently between the over-arching trees until at last they came to the sinuous gates that marked the beginning of her domain.  They lay wide open because, here, there was nothing to fear.  The sleigh carried on through the gates and up a wide path to the main grouping of tree houses.  So much more fine than those he had seen elsewhere, thought Thorin.  So large and beautiful.  He could live in these trees, he concluded.  They stopped at the bottom of a wide and spiralling flight of steps that lead down from a great tree.  The passengers climbed out and Galadriel descended to meet them.

 

For a moment, Thorin thought that he couldn’t breathe.  The elf woman, who seemed almost to float down the staircase, was so fair of face that his eyes felt as though he couldn’t quite encompass her beauty.  And Glorfindel’s hair had nothing on that of this stunning creature.  It was very long and at one moment gleamed like silver and another like gold.  How could she be so old when she looked so young, he thought?  He let out his breath in a gasp as Tauriel broke the spell by exclaiming softly, “Oh, my!”

 

Frodo was standing as if in a remembered dream but Gimli ran forward with a sob and fell at her feet.  “How wondrous it is to gaze upon your face again,” he murmured, his voice breaking with emotion. And he bowed his head as if it hurt him to look upon her.

 

“Gimli,” she said – and her voice was soft, yet clear and bell-like.  “Gimli, how it pleases my heart to see you again.”  And she bent gracefully and lifted him to his feet.  The dwarf was finding it very difficult to look up at her, yet look at her he did and, when their gaze met, the eyes of both were full of emotion.  He stepped back then with a bow, allowing her to greet his companions.

 

“And dearest Frodo,” she said, stretching out her hands to him.  He held them in his own and smiled and, although they said nothing to each other, much seemed to pass between them.

 

“And Thranduil,” she smiled.  And the elf king’s arrogance seemed to melt away as he humbly bent over her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers.

 

“And the lovely Tauriel,” she said softly, “who guarded so well the forests of Mirkwood and the borders of Ered Luin.”  And she bent forward and kissed her on the forehead and suddenly Tauriel felt very young and very shy.

 

And, lastly, Galadriel turned towards Thorin and she reached out and touched his cheek gently.  “Thorin, King of Erebor,” she said.  “You are most welcome to our lands.”  And Thorin looked into her eyes and the Lady looked into his soul and read his heart.  He felt as though he had been pole-axed and couldn’t utter a single word in response to her greeting.  But, she seemed to understand and, turning, lead them all up the staircase to her spacious dwelling and the companions found themselves stumbling up the stairs behind her.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

They were entertained with fine food and sweet elven music, and in the presence of her other courtiers, they began to find it easier to talk with her.  But, between the words, she also looked at each in turn and spoke to their minds.  And the conversation that she had with Thorin made him blush.  Tauriel noticed and wondered what had passed between them.

 

Galadriel’s courtiers drifted in and out during the course of the evening and the only unpleasant moment that occurred was when an elf lord entered and stopped upon the threshold in a state of shock.  Then he turned on his heels angrily and swept from the room.  Tauriel reached across to Thorin and grasped his hand.  It was Riel, the elf who had volunteered up at her outpost but who had turned nasty once he had met Thorin and realised that they were married.  After trying to wreck their marriage he had ridden off, threatening to reveal all to Galadriel as if she could somehow end their relationship.

 

“Yes,” said the Lady gently.  “It is Riel and, even after all these years, he will never change.  He cannot accept a relationship between elf and dwarf.”  At this, Gimli looked up indignantly.  “But,” she continued, “where there is love, all is equal.”  And she smiled.

 

That evening, they talked about many things but, at last, they were shown to various charming tree houses where they would spend the night.

 

.o00o.

 

 Thorin stood by the window in his nightshirt gazing out at the stars.  “Come to bed,” said Tauriel, who was already between the sheets.

 

“I’m sorry, Tauriel,” he said suddenly, right out of the blue.

 

“What about this time?” she smiled.

 

Still with his back to her, he replied: “I’m sorry that I didn’t understand your reaction to Glorfindel.  Now that I’ve seen Galadriel…….” And he tailed off for a moment.  “Well, now that I’ve seen her, I can understand why people think she is the most beautiful woman they have ever seen.  And I feel the same way too.  She is truly lovely and she took my breath away when she came down those stairs.”

 

Tauriel didn’t reply for a moment and then she said, “Oh.”

 

When the silence opened up between them, Thorin finally continued: “Go to sleep, Tauriel.  I’m not tired yet.  I’ve got too much to think about.”  The elf slowly slid down upon the pillows and shut her eyes, expecting him to join her after only a short time.  But, when he didn’t, she finally fell asleep, wondering why she felt so cast down.

 

She woke with a start some hours later, only to find that she was still alone in the bed.  “Thorin!” she called but there was no reply.  She got out of bed and went to the window.  From there she could see the spiral staircase that ran down from Galadriel’s tree house…and moving quietly down the steps came Thorin, barefooted and with his nightshirt tucked casually into a pair of breeches.  Her hand flew to her lips.  What was he doing, descending from Galadriel’s apartment in the early hours of the morning?  Her heart lurched and there came into her mind the question of what Galadriel had said to him to make him blush.  Surely it hadn’t been an invitation from a beautiful but lonely woman living without her husband?  He had thought her the loveliest of women and surely no-one would refuse her if she called to them?

 

Thorin had nearly reached their own stair and she quickly returned to bed and shut her eyes.  He came into the room quietly, got undressed and slid in beside her, being careful not to touch her. Tauriel found it impossible to go back to sleep and could only doze in fits and starts until the dawn came in.

 

They all had an early breakfast without Galadriel but she came to say goodbye, kissing each of them on the forehead.  But, when she came to Thorin, she held his hands and stared deep into his eyes for such a long time that Tauriel knew she was saying something to him.  And then he looked embarrassed and his eyes flickered down to the floor; whereupon she kissed his cheek and whispered something quietly in his ear.  A wave of jealousy swept through Tauriel of such power that she was taken aback by it.

 

But then they mounted into the sleigh and, with a crack of his whip, the driver moved the vehicle smoothly away.  And when they turned back to look, they saw Galadriel standing, beautiful and alone, upon the staircase, one hand raised in farewell.

 

.o00o.

 

The moment she was out of sight, Thranduil’s new-found humility disappeared and his old arrogance returned.  “Did you notice the sexual tension between us?” he asked.  “She’s had feelings for me ever since Dol Guldur was destroyed.  I really ought to take more advantage of her husband’s absence.”

 

Before they had met Galadriel, Thorin had just grinned at Thranduil’s vanity but now, Tauriel noticed, he looked angry.  Did he now see the elf lord as competition, she wondered tiredly?  It had been a long, sleepless night and she was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open on the gently swaying sleigh.  She wanted to snuggle up to Thorin and go to sleep but he kept himself stiffly apart from her.  In the end, her head nodded, her eyes closed and she drooped upon Thranduil’s shoulder instead.  The elf king smirked and put an arm around her: “Wouldn’t want to wake her up, now, would we?” he said.  And there was nothing that Thorin could do.

 

The rest of the journey was spent in a tense silence and, when they got to Thranduil’s palace, Thorin picked up his wife, still sleeping, in his arms and carried her to their room.  That evening, when Tauriel still dozed, Thorin asked for food to be sent up to them and left the elf king to be entertained by Frodo, Gimli and Legolas.  They left with Frodo the next morning before the elf king was up.  “Give your father our thanks for his hospitality and the use of his sleigh,” he said to Legolas as they rode away.

 

.o00o.

 

“Well, that was a fascinating conversation I had with Thranduil last night,” Frodo said as they journeyed along the coast.  “I’ve got a lot of material for my new book, I reckon.”

 

Thorin looked at the little hobbit with interest.  “So, you now know all about elven sexual techiques?” he laughed.  “Come on, Frodo, tell us all about what goes on in the privacy of Thranduil’s bedroom.”

 

Frodo looked horrified.  “Oh, no,” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t possibly pass on anything he told me in mixed company!”  And he glanced politely at Tauriel.  “Some of the things he said were ab-so-lute-ly filthy.  Mind you,” he continued with a grin, “it made me wish I were a married man.”  The two of them laughed and Thorin thought how like his uncle Frodo was, especially now that his sadness had begun to evaporate.

 

.o00o.

 

They were relieved to get back to the forge – and yet they weren’t.  Once Frodo had departed for Bilbo’s hobbit hole and they were alone together, the tension was palpable.  They got ready for bed and, when they were lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, Tauriel finally said: “What went on between you and Galadriel?  Why did you blush when she spoke privately to you?  And why did I see you coming from her quarters in the middle of the night?”

 

Thorin lay in silence for a moment.  And then he said: “I blushed because she looked into my heart; she saw what I intended and she reprimanded me.”

 

“What you intended?” asked Tauriel in bewilderment.  “What on earth are you talking about, Thorin?”

 

He sighed and then said: “Frodo told me that Galadriel was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.  And that’s why I organised the trip to Lothlorien.  It’s true that I found her stunning but I was going to pretend that I had developed some kind of passion for her so that you would understand why I was upset about Glorfindel.  She read my intentions in my mind and expressed her disapproval.”

 

Tauriel said nothing and so he continued: “But I refused to listen to her and, that night in Lothlorien, I started gushing on to you about how wonderful she was.  I could see I was upsetting you and…” - he hesitated - “and…I’m afraid I was pleased about it.  Then, she touched my mind and called me to her and we talked for hours about how much I loved you and about the jealousy of dwarves and the ways in which I could cope with how I sometimes feel.”  He gave a wry smile.  “She was like a mother to me.  I’m sorry if you thought otherwise.”

 

The elf reached out across the gap between them and took him by the hand.  “I’m sorry, too,” she said.  “I was very silly about Glorfindel.”

 

“So, that makes two silly people together,” he said softly.  “Perhaps we deserve each other.”  And he drew her into his arms.

 

“There’s no reason,” she said, “why either of us shouldn’t admire something beautiful……. something exquisitely crafted, the distant stars, the Arkenstone, Galadriel, Glorfindel.  All such things can sometimes be quite jaw-dropping.  But, just because I admired Glorfindel’s looks, doesn’t mean that I felt one single fraction of the love I feel for you.”

 

“I know that now,” he whispered.  “I talked it through with Galadriel.  What we have felt for those two glorious beings is nothing more than an admiring crush.  And what we feel for each other is love.”

 

“Tell me how much you love me, Thorin,” she smiled.

 

“Certainly,” he said softly, “but I’m afraid it will take all night.”

 

.o00o.

 

_(Thorin shut the laptop and felt that here was a job well done._

_“Still a few hours before dawn, my love,” said Tauriel, sliding her arms about his neck and kissing the top of his head.  “What do you suggest we do with the time before it’s our turn to make breakfast?”_

_“Ummm,” said Thorin._

_“Good idea,” she said, as she wrapped her fists around his plaits and pulled him to the bedroom.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: We discover that Thorin and Gimli are Dwarves Behaving Badly when they get together up at the forge. Thorin wishes that he could be more like an elf and signs up for Charm School in an effort to please Tauriel. But does Tauriel really want Thorin to behave more like Thranduil or Elrond or Glorfindel, LOL? What do you think?


	46. Thorin Goes to Charm School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Gimli get drunk together, Tauriel gets mad and Thorin decides to change his behaviour. Why not learn to act like an elf? Really, Thorin, LOL? Is this something that your wife will actually want from you? But, he does try, doesn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for confusing people by attaching the title of this chapter to the previous one. All is now sorted.

.o00o.

 

 All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

 Thorin Goes to Charm School

 

Pt I

 

“Do you know what I’d really, really like?” said Thorin, lying on his back in bed and gazing at the ceiling.

 

“No, my love,” said Tauriel huskily, leaning on one elbow and drawing circles with her finger on his broad chest.  “Tell me.”  And she planted a soft kiss in the hollow of his throat.

 

“I’d really like to see more of Gimli.”

 

With a snort of indignation, Tauriel whipped the pillow out from under his head and hit him on the nose with it.

 

Thorin yelped.  “Hey!  What was that for?”  And he snatched the pillow from her before she hit him again.

 

“That’s for starting my day on a note of disappointment,” she said.  And, still grumbling, she climbed out of bed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

 

Thorin hurried after her and slid his arms around her waist as she hacked away at a loaf of bread with a sharp knife.  “I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he whispered in her ear, “but I’m getting the urge to write a story about me and Gimli at the moment.”  And, pressing a kiss to her neck, he moved away to find the laptop.

 

“Dwarves and their urges!” muttered Tauriel in annoyance as her husband typed a new title and began his story:

 

Thorin Goes to Charm School

 

It was early spring and Thorin was digging over his vegetable garden in the afternoon sun, getting it ready for new planting.  Suddenly a wagon came rumbling up the hill and, as it stopped outside his front door, Gimli leaped out from the rear.

 

“Thorin!” he yelled, waving a hand and walking towards him.  “I’ve been cadging a series of free rides all day and I thought I’d never get here!”

 

“Yet another good reason,” laughed Thorin, “why you should learn to ride a horse.  It must be a nuisance having to depend on Legolas to get anywhere.”

 

“I’ve been meaning to visit for ages,” explained the dwarf.  “I know we’ve seen each other at various get-togethers in recent months, but I really fancied something where it was just dwarf-to-dwarf, without Legolas breathing down my neck and asking what we were talking about.  You know, an opportunity to drink beer and reminisce about Erebor and all that stuff.”

 

“I suppose,” grinned Thorin, “that means that you’re staying for the night and you’d like me to encourage Tauriel to visit her son or daughter for the evening.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” laughed Gimli in return.

 

And so, the two of them went back to the house and Tauriel agreed to make them some food and then take herself off somewhere for a few hours so that Thorin and Gimli could have a Lads’ Night Out (or In).  “And don’t get up to any mischief,” she laughed, waggling her finger at them, not imagining that they would do anything except behave themselves.

 

.o00o.

 

Unfortunately, she hadn’t taken into account the fact that, stored in Gimli’s pack, were bottles and bottles of the strong dwarven beer that had been so popular on Middle-earth.  Thorin’s eyes opened wide in appreciation.  “When I came on the last ship from the Grey Havens, I brought crates of it with me,” said Gimli.  “Unlike you, I had plenty of time to pack.”  He cracked open two of the bottles and handed one to Thorin.  “I’m the only one who likes the stuff and it’s not much fun drinking on your own.  That’s when I had the urge to come and drink it with you.”  And, with Thorin following suit, he downed his bottle in a few huge gulps and opened a couple more.

 

Thorin shut his eyes and could imagine he was back on Middle-earth, in the feasting hall of Erebor or in the tap-room of the Prancing Pony.  He let out a long sigh of satisfaction.  “Wonderful,” he murmured.  And soon the collection of bottles was rapidly diminishing.

 

After a few hours of drinking and reminiscing, they were both roaring drunk.  They shouted raucous dwarven drinking songs together, told a lot of filthy jokes that had them giggling like naughty school-boys and lolled on each other’s shoulders remembering old tales in maudlin voices.  Thorin hadn’t behaved like this since goodness knows when and he felt a sense of release.

 

Then, through bleary eyes, he noticed the lovely spread of food that Tauriel had set out for them on the dining-table.  They had forgotten all about it and it seemed to him that, eating a bit of food would help soak up the alcohol and enable them to drink even more.

 

“Le’s eat some food, Gimli, ol’ frien’,” he said in a slurred voice.  “M’wife’s a good cook.  Get upset if we don’ eat her food.”

 

“Good idea,” said Gimli, staggering to his feet.  And they wove their swaying way to the table and fell into chairs at either end.  But, after a few mouthfuls, they ground to a halt.  They were so full of alcohol that there was no room left for food.  Gimli picked up a bread roll and played with it for a bit.  Then he threw it at Thorin and hit him square on the forehead.  “Bull’s-eye!” he yelled.

 

Thorin lobbed a grape, shouting, “Catch!”  And, in spite of his drunkenness, Gimli caught it in his mouth and swallowed it.  That triggered another giggling fit and they began to throw food at each other until most of it had gone from the table and was strewn on the floor.  Then a plate was accidentally broken, followed by a glass.  “Whoops!” sniggered Thorin.  “Don’t think m’wife’ll be bes’ pleased wi’ that.”  And he bent down to pick up the pieces but only succeeded in falling on his face.

 

Gimli laughed and helped him to his feet.  “There y’go,” he said as he dropped him into a chair by the fire.  Then he turned and tripped over a delicate stool, landing on top of it with a crash and smashing it to pieces.

 

Thorin wagged a finger at him.  “Bad boy,” he said sternly.  “Thass Taur’el’s fav’rite piece.  Put us in the naughty corner, won’t she?” 

 

Gimli crawled to the chair opposite Thorin and hauled himself into the seat.  “Le’s run away ‘n hide inna stable,” he said.

 

“Good idea,” agreed Thorin, trying to focus.  “Then she won’ know who dun this.”  And he stared around the room and started giggling again.

 

But, before they could run away and hide, the door swung open.  They turned blearily and clapped their hands over their mouths.  “Taur’el!” snorted Thorin.  Then he placed his fingers to his lips.  “Sshh!” he said in a hoarse whisper to Gimli.  “Don’t tell her wha’ we done.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Tauriel stood on the threshold and gazed around the room in horror.  She had only been gone for three hours and now her lovely home looked like a battlefield.  Empty bottles and food and broken glass and china lay everywhere and Gimli and Thorin were slumped in their chairs, grinning like idiots.

 

“Thorin!” she cried.  “How could you?!” 

 

“Sorry, Tauriel,” he said gruffly and he stretched out his hand to her.  She walked towards him and she expected him to give her a fuller apology.  His mouth was turned down in a chagrined grimace and she imagined, at the very least, that he was about to kiss her fingers and volunteer to clear up.  Instead, he laughingly grabbed her by the wrist, swung her down upon his lap and ran his large hand up her leg and under her skirt to the top of her thigh, all the while nuzzling her neck and trying to kiss her.

 

“Thorin!” she gasped.  “Let me go!  You’re embarrassing me!”  And she glanced over to Gimli.  But the dwarf seemed to be enjoying her discomfort and he merely laughed and winked at Thorin, which only encouraged him further.

 

He ran his hand even higher up her leg to her buttock whilst the other fumbled behind her neck, finding her nape and pulling her to him.  Then he planted a whole host of slobbery kisses all over her face and throat.  She fought to pull away but he held her in an iron grip, murmuring drunken little nothings into her ear.

 

“Looks like you two need t’ gerra room!” guffawed Gimli.  “Or p’raps I should.”  And he hauled himself to his feet and staggered off to the guest room next door.

 

“Thorin!  Just stop it!” snapped Tauriel.  But her husband only grinned inanely and, rising to his feet with her in his arms – with difficulty, it might be said – made his stumbling way to their bedroom.  There, he dropped her on the bed and then fell heavily on top of her.

 

“Le’s make love,” he grunted, struggling with his clothes.  Tauriel realised that he was being overly optimistic but she was furious at his behaviour.  Finally, with a great heave, she managed to push him off and he slumped clumsily to the floor.

 

“You- you _dwarf!”_ she yelled.  “No elf would ever treat his wife like this!Just get out of my room!”  And Thorin managed to half crawl, muttering and complaining, out into the sitting-room where he heard his wife locking the door behind him.  He slumped on the rug in front of the fire, feeling very hard done by, and there he went to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, when Gimli finally stumbled over the threshold, holding his head and groaning, he found Thorin making some attempt to clear up.  They rolled their eyes at each other and finished the tidying in silence together.

 

“She’s locked herself in her room,” sighed Thorin.

 

“Don’t worry,” said Gimli, “she’ll get over it.  Then, when she comes out, all you’ve got to do is get down on your knees and grovel.”

 

Thorin sighed again and wondered if he had gone too far this time.  He made a pot of tea and some breakfast, but neither of them felt very hungry.  “I’ll walk you down to the harbour,” he said, “and help you find a lift back home.  I could do with some fresh air.”  And they both rubbed their throbbing temples.

 

Before setting out, he went to the bedroom door, tapped gently and said: “I’m just going down to the harbour with Gimli, dearest.  There’s tea and toast on the table.  I shan’t be too long.”  But the response was only silence.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Gimli, as they walked down the hill.  “It’s all my fault, bringing all that beer with me.”

 

“No, it’s mine,” said Thorin.  “I didn’t have to get drunk.  I don’t think she’s ever seen me as bad as that and my behaviour was pretty awful.”

 

“Well,” his friend responded, trying to sound cheerful, “by the time you get back, I’m sure she will have forgiven you.  After all, we did clean up.”

 

“I’m not so sure,” replied Thorin.  “She called me a ‘dwarf’ as if it were an insult and said an elf would never have behaved like that.  I still wonder if, after all these years, she sometimes regrets marrying me.”

 

“Never!” exclaimed Gimli with a snort.  “Everyone knows what a perfect couple you are.”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin.  “But not everyone was a fly on the wall last night.  If only I could be a bit more like Elrond or Glorfindel or even Thranduil, I feel I could make her perfectly happy.  I can be so coarse – so clumsy – sometimes and I don’t think that anyone would call me smooth, quick-witted or charming.  If only I could be more elf-like, I’m sure that would please her.  But I was born this way and I am what I am.  A dwarf.”  And his voice was full of regret.

 

“You do know,” said Gimli with a laugh, “that not all elves are born the way they are?  Legolas tells me that, some of it you learn from your parents, of course, but they also learn about how to behave in special schools.  The Moot Hall in the harbour is running lessons at this very moment.  You’re in luck!”  He said this as a joke but Thorin looked at him with a serious and hopeful look on his face.

 

“Fantastic, Gimli!” he said.  “I shall sign up at once!”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Gimli had found his lift and departed.  Now Thorin was visiting the Moot Hall.  There he found an elf setting out about 20 chairs in rows.  The elf, like most elves, was tall and elegant but his face held a look of special authority, of One Who Knows, and he immediately commanded respect.

 

“Ah, Thorin Oakenshield,” he murmured with a grey smile.  “What can I do for you?”

 

“Have I met you before?” asked Thorin in surprise.

 

“Not exactly,” he said, “but I have been amongst the crowds who have attended the same meetings as you.  And so I know you by sight…. And,” he added, “there are only two dwarves living in the Undying Lands and so I’m not exactly spoiled for choice.”  And he laughed dryly.

 

He introduced himself as Ellandel and then waited patiently for Thorin to explain himself.  Thorin was hesitant, but, after another of the elf lord’s faint smiles, he stuttered into an explanation.  “As you doubtless know,” he started, “I am married to the elf, Tauriel.  And, ummm, basically, for her, umm, sake, I would like to moderate my dwarven behaviour and learn to behave more like an elf.  I believe you are about to start a series of lessons here which I would be very pleased to join……If you would have me.”  He waited for laughter or rejection but it never came.  Ellandel could perfectly understand why anyone of a lesser race would want to act like an elf.

 

He nodded his head graciously and told Thorin that the lessons started that afternoon and lasted for two weeks.  And Thorin immediately asked if he could join in.  After they had come to an agreement, Thorin went outside and wrote a brief letter; and then he found an elven horseman who would deliver it to the forge; and, after that, he visited Frodo and got the keys to Bilbo’s old wooden shack from him: he knew he would be comfortable there.

 

.o00o.

 

Early that afternoon, just as Tauriel was beginning to wonder how much longer her husband would be and had started to work on a long speech she was going to make to him when he returned, a horseman arrived with a letter from him and then waited for a reply.

 

“ _Dear Tauriel,”_ the letter said, _“I cannot tell you how sorry I am about last night and, at the moment, I am trying to make amends.  I shall be staying in Bilbo’s old house for two weeks and am reluctant to see you during this time whilst I work on my project.  Hopefully, you will immediately be aware of what I have been up to the moment you set eyes on me again.  Please can you send me some spare clothes?”_   And he had signed it: _“Your loving husband, Thorin.”_

What on earth is that idiot up to now, she thought?  But, if it made him happy……  In fact, she had already forgiven him.  Apart from the stool – and she knew he would carve her a new one – the place was back in order and, when she thought of the manhandling she had received from him the previous evening – well – she had begun to see the funny side.  In all the years she had known him, she had only seen him truly drunk once when he thought he had lost her and she had found him talking self-pityingly to his horse.  Not a bad record.  She wondered what his ‘project’ was and knew she would miss him.  And then she went to pack some clothes.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin sat in the middle of a bunch of elves and he stood out like a sore thumb.  They were all young – for elves – even though they were actually older than Thorin.  But they looked young and behaved young and that’s what counted.  A few already knew him; others had only ever heard of him. But all of them were glancing sideways at him with a rather bemused look.  Thorin felt uncomfortable but gritted his teeth: the prize would be worth it.

 

Ellandel swept into the room and called them to attention.  “And the first lesson of the day,” he said, “is to learn that we do NOT glance sideways at other students or make them feel uncomfortable.  We are all equal in this room.”  And the elves turned pink and looked at the ground whilst a few nearest to Thorin muttered “sorry”.

 

Ellandel smiled and gestured gracefully in Thorin’s direction:  “I would like you to welcome an honoured guest today who will be with us for the next two weeks: Thorin, son of Thrain, and King of Erebor whilst he was in Middle-earth.”  Thorin stood and smiled at them all.  “And I am very pleased to be one of you,” he said.  And that’s a lesson in elven graciousness that I have just learned, he thought as he sat down.

 

And so they began.

 

“Our second lesson of the day will involve learning how to walk,” said Ellandel.

 

Walk!  Thorin almost snorted.  I know how to walk.  But, not this kind of walking, he soon discovered.  They were all circling around Ellandel (like horses being trained, thought Thorin) trying to walk like graceful elves.  “Float!  Don’t stomp!” snapped Ellandel at him.  He could be very sharp when he was in teacher mode.  Floating was difficult for Thorin with his big boots but he found that his gait improved considerably once he took them off.  “And, one!  And, two!  And, float!  And, float!” chanted Ellandel.  It seemed to go on for hours but, in the end, he was satisfied.  Thorin was even held up as an example to the rest of the class, with Ellandel pointing out how hard he had persevered to overcome various difficulties.  Thorin went to bed that night smiling.

 

The lessons that followed were equally hard-going but both Ellandel and Thorin were pleased at his success.  He learned how to dance for the first time ever and wished that he had known how to do this that time he had visited Mirkwood – and then there might not have been all that trouble.   He learned how to bow and kiss a lady’s hand and smirked when he felt that he could now outdo Thranduil in the hand-kissing stakes.  They were taken outside to ride horses and he impressed all the young elves with his skill.  But Ellandel wasn’t satisfied.  “Yes,” he said, “you can handle a horse well enough but I would prefer it if you learned to sit less like a sack of potatoes and if you could manage to mount and dismount more gracefully.”

 

Then, racks and racks of clothing were brought into the hall and they had to choose those clothes that they considered were the most stylish and which colours went together the best.  Thorin was pretty bad at first.  “No, no, no!” yelled Ellandel.  “Puce and yellow are NOT two colours that happily blend with each other!”  But, as the time wore on, he got the hang of it because, he discovered, that even if you weren’t born with a natural colour sense, there were always rules you could follow.

 

Then they had to learn how to set a cap at a stylish angle on their heads and stand with a sword strapped elegantly on the hip.  And, most tricky of all, how to wear a cloak.  It had never occurred to Thorin before that cloaks needed to be ‘managed’ but now he learned that it was quite a complicated skill.

 

The most difficult lessons were those that involved elegant and witty speech.  Some of the elves were naturally silver-tongued and only needed a bit of polish but, for the rest of them, it was a matter of careful study.  Again, there were some useful rules and clever phrases that you could learn off by heart to help you on your way, but Thorin felt a bit of a failure.  He was making friends by now and they surreptitiously gave him a pat on the back whenever Ellandel subjected him to yet another series of scathing remarks.  “You’re doing fine – don’t take any notice of him,” they whispered.

 

The very last day brought a topic that was both fascinating and embarrassing in equal measure: sex lessons.  Or ‘How to Make Love to a Lady’, as Ellandel preferred to put it.  He introduced a colleague, Periath, a most beautiful female elf, and, between them, and with the aid of a few clay models and diagrams, they demonstrated the pleasures of the flesh without removing a single item of clothing.  Out of all the students, Thorin was the only one who had done the Real Thing and he was treated with respect.  But he discovered that he was sitting wide-eyed as elven techniques were explained to them all.  “No!  Never!” he found himself muttering under his breath on quite frequent occasions.

 

And during the last hour, certificates were handed out to them all, along with words of praise.  And the praise reserved for Thorin was so fulsome that he blushed and shuffled his feet.  “Now,” laughed Ellandel, who had become quite fond of him, “if you fidget around in that less than elegant way, I shall have to withdraw your qualification.”  And Thorin looked up with one of his beautiful smiles and received his award with a graceful bow and a few words of gracious thanks.

 

“Well done,” said Ellandel, and they all clapped.

 

I think I’m ready to go home to Tauriel now, he thought.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

It was early that evening, in the twilight, that Thorin Oakenshield came riding home to Tauriel, his wife.  One of the rules he had learned – and one that Thranduil had taken to heart – was ‘make an entrance’.  And he refused to trudge back to the forge on foot, arriving dusty and tired.  Instead, he had hired a very beautiful white horse and had acquired various items of clothing from among Ellandel’s racks.  He had also got one of the other pupils to style his hair.  And so, when Tauriel first saw him, she was completely shocked.  The horse pranced into the yard, totally under Thorin’s control, even if he was only using one hand whilst the other rested elegantly upon his hip.  He drew to a halt before her and then dismounted with as much grace as she had seen any elf lord muster and then he bowed and kissed her finger tips, swirling his cloak in a dashing fold about his arm.

 

She stood open-mouthed, but the thing that shocked her the most, was his hair.  What on earth had he done to his beautiful hair?!  His normal curls now fell in a straight and shiny mass down his back. And his beard was gone!!!  Tauriel let out a cry and clapped her hand to her mouth.  He looked very smart.  He looked very fine.  He looked exceedingly handsome.  But he didn’t look like her Thorin.  Her Thorin was rough and tough and glowering – and very hairy.  This Thorin looked like an elf: smooth of skin, straight of hair, arrogant of person, elegant of form and with an extraordinarily dazzling and unnatural smile on his face.

 

“Beloved!” he said silkily.  “How glad I am that my eyes behold you once more.  Let us no longer tarry on the threshold but seek refuge - and each other’s lips - within.”

 

“What!?” thought Tauriel.

 

Thorin had taken her by the hand and was leading her into the house.  And there, he did a ‘Thranduil kiss’, sweeping her backwards over his arm and planting his lips firmly upon hers.  It lasted a long time but it was passionless and there were no tongues!  Goodness!  How weird was that, she thought?!

 

And when he had returned her to the upright position, she determinedly seized him by his plaits and kissed him again, making sure her tongue was halfway down his throat.  But, Thorin took her firmly but gently by the wrists and moved her away.  Then he stared at her with his glorious blue eyes and said in that strange soft voice he had suddenly adopted: “Beloved, you must be weary after a long day.  Let me prepare a simple repast for us both – a loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou beside me – what more could I desire?”

 

“What!?” exclaimed Tauriel again, this time aloud.

 

Thorin smirked to himself because he could see he had made an impression.  With an elaborate twirl, he removed his cloak and hung it on a hook on the back of the door.  Then he returned lightly to his wife’s side.

 

Goodness!  He’s even walking peculiarly, she thought.

 

“Thorin,” she said severely, “what is this all about?”

 

But he placed his fingers on her lips.  “Hush, my beloved,” he said.  “I shall tell all in time.  But know, it is for thee.”

 

And he was talking peculiarly too!  Had he gone mad?!

 

But he sailed off to the kitchen where he prepared his “simple repast” which he placed on the table with a most stylish turn of the wrist.

 

“Pray, sit.  Eat,” he said, pulling back a chair for her.  And then he sat beside her and poured her wine and plucked grapes which he fed her with delicate and precise movements.

 

Finally, Tauriel could stand it no longer.  “Stop it, Thorin!  Stop it at once!” she cried.

 

“Stop what, beloved?” he asked in what appeared to be genuine puzzlement.

 

“Just stop all this,” she snapped, and she waved her hand vaguely about her before striding off to the bedroom.

 

Ah, so that’s what she wants, thought Thorin.  Time to show off my new skills, I believe.  And he sauntered in after her.

 

In the bedroom, she turned to confront him, but before she could open her mouth, he had swept her up in his arms and then placed her tenderly on the bed.  He kissed her gently and, at the same time, skilfully undid the buttons on her dress.  So distracted was she by the strange way in which he was kissing her that she didn’t notice this until her dress was off and she was lying in her shift.

 

Before she could decide whether she objected or not, Thorin was standing at the foot of the bed, languidly undoing his own buttons and belt whilst staring sensuously into her eyes.  Oh, my, she thought for a minute and then it all seemed so silly that she wanted to laugh.  When he let his clothes fall upon the floor, she decided it wasn’t so silly after all.  And yet, although she recognised his beautiful body, it just wasn’t his face or hair and she felt an odd mixture of emotions, somewhere between arousal and confusion.

 

He lay down next to her and slowly pulled her shift up over her head.  Right!  Now she was ready for it, she decided and she pulled Thorin to her and waited for his usual passionate but tender assault upon her, that almost uncontrollable expression of his love that she enjoyed so much and which made her feel so wanted and desired.

 

But, he pushed her away gently and began a strange caressing of her body.  She lay there startled for a while and waited for the real love-making to begin.  But, he never seemed to get started.  What was wrong with him?  And, when she turned to look at him, he had a strange, aloof expression on his face – almost detached – a look she almost recognised but couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

 

She was writhing in frustration, and, finally, with an overwhelming sense of irritation, she yelled: “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Thorin!  Get on with it!” 

 

He was startled and stopped what he was doing.  And then he looked upset.  “But – but – isn’t this what you want, Tauriel?  Isn’t this what elves do?  I’m trying so hard not to give in to my base, dwarven instincts here.”

 

And, suddenly she realised why so much of him seemed familiar.  He was trying to be an elf!  He almost reminded her of Thranduil.  And, first her jaw dropped and then she laughed.  But, when he looked hurt and distressed, she took him in her arms and stroked his naked cheek.  “Oh, Thorin,” she whispered, “what have you been doing down in the harbour all this time?  Tell me, my love.”

 

He looked up at her through his long, dark lashes.  “I’ve been having lessons with a bunch of young elves on how to be an elf,” he said softly, “but I’m a failure, aren’t I?”

 

“And, why on earth would you want to be an elf?” she asked, brushing her lips across his own and thinking how much she missed the silkiness of his beard.

 

“Because you don’t like my dwarven ways.  And if they’re so offensive to you, then I thought I could change myself and be more like the husband you would wish for.”

 

Tauriel was nearly in tears.  “And you would try to change your very self for me?” she asked.  And he nodded silently.

 

She took him by his braids and tugged them gently.  “You stupid, stupid dwarf,” she whispered.  “Don’t you understand that I love you for what you are?  I love you just because you _are_ a dwarf and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

 

“But, aren’t I – you know – just a bit rough and overly passionate in bed?  Wouldn’t you prefer it if I showed a bit of – ummm – sophisticated restraint?  Our teachers showed us all how to do it, you know.”

 

“They did?” she asked, wide-eyed.  And then she screeched with laughter.  “Then all I can say is that I pity the poor elf women who marry any of their pupils!”  He gave her a bewildered look but she carried on giggling and pulled him on top of her.  “Right!” she said.  “Time to get going.  It should be quite exciting, making love to a strange man.”

 

“What strange man?” asked Thorin, looking even more bewildered.

 

“Oh, just shut up, Thorin!” she exclaimed and she stopped his mouth with her own.

 

.o00o.

 

_(Thorin shut the laptop and turned to his wife.  “It started out,” he said quietly, “as a story about me and Gimli but it finished up as one about how much I love you.”_

_“No,” she replied, stroking his cheek, “it finished up as one about how much I love YOU.”_

_Then she bent over and kissed him long and hard.  “Oh, and by the way,” she added, gently rubbing her skin made sore by his bristles, “how much longer before this wretched beard of yours grows back in?”)_

.o00o.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and his Nephews. Rosie asks Thorin all about Fili and Kili. It’s a sensitive topic but will Thorin get some pleasure from remembering the past? And did he look after his nephews or did they look after him?
> 
>  
> 
> Would love to hear what you think of my new chapters.


	47. Thorin and his Nephews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili have only had a brief mention in my stories so far. I have avoided their tragedy, just as Tolkien did himself. But, by special request from a reader on fanfiction.net, I have written a story about their relationship with their uncle – and it’s not all sad, LOL!

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin……And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and his Nephews

 

Pt I

 

Thorin missed people.  He usually thought about them at the moment of waking, when Tauriel was still asleep and all was quiet in the world.  Sometimes, thinking about them caused an extreme feeling of loss and then the tears would trickle down his cheeks; at other times, he remembered the laughter they had shared and he would find himself smiling. He listed them one by one: his sister, Dis, and her sons, Fili and Kili, together with Balin and all the other members of his dwarven company, plus Rose and her husband, Telbarad.  And he had never even got to see Rose’s children.  Some of these friends and relatives had died before his departure from Middle-earth, whilst he had only heard about the fate of the rest once the last ship from the Grey Havens had reached the Undying Lands.  It wasn’t that he was ungrateful that he had been given this gift of more life with Tauriel, but he wished, he really wished, that he could have had it all.  And, by “all”, he meant he wished that all those he had loved could still be with him.

 

Tauriel woke up and felt the stillness and the tension of his body as it lay next to her own.  She knew what he was thinking and slipped her arm about him.  “It’s alright,” she whispered.  “I’m here.”  And she drew him into her arms and kissed him.

 

An hour or so after they had got up, Rosie came visiting, almost as though her thoughts and her grandfather’s had coincided.  She sat next to him on the sofa and linked her arm in his, placing her chin on his shoulder.  “I’ve been thinking about Aunt Rose,” she said.

 

“Oh, yes,” answered Thorin quietly.  Rose may only have been an adopted daughter, but she was also the daughter of his heart.

 

“She was wonderful,” said Rosie.

 

“I know,” said Thorin.

 

“Beren and I were always getting into trouble,” she continued, “and she was always there to get us out.”  And then she wept.  Tauriel went silently from the room and drank her tea outside in the sun.

 

“Yes, we both miss her,” said Thorin, “just as we miss all the others.”

 

“I wish she hadn’t died.”

 

“I know,” said Thorin.

 

“The deaths of Fili and Kili must have been the hardest for you,” Rosie pushed on, ignoring the bitter tightening of his lips, “because you were there to see it and because you must have felt responsible for them.”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin tersely.

 

“You never talk about them,” she pursued, “and I would love to hear about them.  When I think of those two, I think of me and Beren – always up to some mischief or other.”

 

Thorin’s face softened a little: “Yes: me and Frerin and Dis, Fili and Kili and, from what I’ve heard, you and Beren – all of us extremely naughty in our time.”

 

Rosie stroked his arm.  “I find it impossible to believe that you were ever naughty, grandfather,” she said.

 

“Oh,” he smiled, “there was plenty of time to be naughty when we were young and carefree before the dragon came.  We used to run rings around our father, just as Fili and Kili and, later, your Aunt Rose ran rings around me.”

 

She lay her head on his shoulder again and gently squeezed his hand.  “Smaug destroyed more than the kingdom of Erebor the day he came to the Lonely Mountain, didn’t he?”

 

“Yes,” he replied quietly.  “He took away my youth and my untroubled days and set a great burden on my shoulders.”

 

“But,” she said, looking up and smiling at him.  “You got there in the end.  You reclaimed your kingdom.  And, look at things this way: if Smaug hadn’t turfed you out, you would never have met Tauriel, and neither Arion nor Poppy nor me would exist and you would never have met Rose.”

 

He gave her a hug and grunted.

 

She hugged him back.  “And now, tell me a story about Fili and Kili – about some trouble they got into and how you came to the rescue.”

 

“I’d rather write about it than talk about it,” he said.  “It’s easier.  Pass me the laptop.”  And so, she passed him the laptop and he began:

 

Thorin and his Nephews

 

I never really liked babies.  Not that I knew much about them anyway: with dwarf women so thin on the ground, there were only a few marriages and even fewer children, either in Erebor or in Ered Luin, which latter became my home after our retreat from the Lonely Mountain.  But, when Fili then Kili were born to my sister, Dis, and then her husband died and she was left to struggle on alone, I felt it was my duty to visit her and the children regularly.

 

Not that she lacked for suitors, mind you, who would willingly have become her new husband and a new father to the boys.  She was a fine-looking woman and had rarity value; and, on top of that, of course, Fili and Kili were the heirs of Durin, in line to the throne should I die without issue.  Heirs to the throne of Erebor, I would think sourly.  Heirs to nothing, more like.  But, at that time, I had no wife, no sweetheart and thus no children, which made the boys important and Dis an important match.  But, she had loved her husband - no other dwarf could hold a candle to him as far as she was concerned - and she preferred to remain single.

 

So….. my nephews.  As babies, I found them a bit repulsive – wriggling, smelly, noisy little things.  But, I forced myself to ride every few days from my forge at the crossroads to the dwarven settlement in the foothills of the Blue Mountains so that I could help Dis and get to know my kin.  It was a journey of two hours and I would be tired after a day of hammering at my anvil but I would do my best to nurse them and to play with them as they grew older, so that she could get on with her household chores. 

 

I would sit on the floor with baby Kili in my lap whilst the older boy, Fili, climbed all over me.  They treated me like a giant toy, grabbing at my plaits, exploring the rings in my ears, pushing up my sleeves to examine my tattoos.  In the end, when they got too tiresome, I would growl at them and Fili would let out a half-frightened giggle and run away to hide behind a chair, whilst Kili would bury his face in my furs and thus make me disappear.  Then, “Do it again, Unca Thorin,” Fili would say from behind his chair.  “Be a monster again.”  And I would put Kili down carefully and go crawling on my hands and knees after Fili, growling and roaring, until he ran shrieking to his mother and hid in her skirts.

 

“Thorin!” she would shout.  “Don’t overexcite them!  I’ll never get them to sleep tonight!”

 

But, in the end, it was me who took them to their room and rocked Kili in my arms until he nodded off and told the toddler, Fili, stories about Erebor and the goblin wars and Smaug the dragon.  And, of course, if he woke up having nightmares in the night, his cries rousing Kili too, that was all my fault as well, and it was me who went and soothed them.

 

It was a duty at first but, the older they got, the more I became attached to them and the more they seemed to become attached to me.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

When they were old enough, grown into little lads, Dis would bring them to the forge and all three would stay with me for a week at a time.  Dis would tut at the untidiness of my home and would set about making all straight once more, giving me lessons in housewifery, whilst the boys treated the forge and the surrounding area as a giant playground in which they ran riot.  I would give up part of my day to them, teaching them to fish and swim, and, once they were strong enough to wield the tiny swords and axes I had forged for them, I showed then how to use them.  Kili was interested in my short dwarven bow and arrows and so I made him a set.  Such a weapon was not my preference – too elven, I often used to think – but, it had its uses when hunting and I was pleased when he showed an exceptional skill.

 

When they came to stay, I slept on the mattress in the corner of the forge, whilst they took over the one room of the hall house.  Dis used to complain:  “This place could do with an extension.  Surely you’ve made enough money over the years to build one?”  And, yes, I had, but I was saving that money for my Quest, for my return to Erebor when I would reclaim my kingdom from the dragon.

 

No-one, except me, believed this possible.  We had all been so long in Ered Luin and I had worked so hard to make a comfortable life there for my people that the memory of Erebor, its beauty and greatness, was slowly slipping away from their minds.  Going home seemed an impossible dream.  “Ered Luin is our home now, laddie,” Balin would say.  He was an old and wise counsellor and I usually listened to him but not in this.  And I made sure that Fili and Kili knew all the old stories, all our dwarven history, and I painted such a powerful picture of Erebor in their mind’s eye that a fierce yearning to see that great dwarven kingdom burned almost as brightly within them as it did within me.

 

But, whilst they waited for that day, completely convinced that their Unca Thorin would somehow make it happen, they passed their time by getting into mischief.

 

.o00o.

 

I don’t know how they did it but they somehow made me one of their co-conspirators.  “Don’t tell mother,” they would plead after I had pulled them out of yet another scrape.  And, if possible, I didn’t. 

 

An instance would be the time when Fili sidled into the forge during one of their stays to tell me urgently but quietly that Kili was stuck in a tree.  I hurried off with him to find the situation a lot worse than he had made out.  Not only was his brother up a tree but he was dangling from a branch and that branch was stretched out over the river.  It was in flood at the time and the water was raging.

 

“Tell him to drop when I signal,” I said to Fili grimly.  And I ran downstream to where some fallen tree trunks were partly blocking its flow; then I edged into the water, wedged myself into position and signalled.  “With a whoop, Kili dropped into the fast-flowing stream and, as he was swept past, I managed to grab him by his dark hair and yank him out.

 

And was he frightened by this experience?  Did he learn from it?  Of course not.  He lay upon the bank, coughing up water and laughing his head off.  Fili was just as bad.  “That looked like fun!” he yelled as he came running up.

 

“What a ride!” Kili gasped, rolling onto his back, his face breaking into that devilish grin I got to know so well.

 

I felt like throwing him back in the water.

 

Then, “Don’t tell mother,” they said as one.  And I found myself smuggling them back to the forge where I dried their clothes and kept my mouth shut.

 

They never thanked me but I knew they were grateful.  And the biggest problem was that they became even more reckless the older they got because they had complete faith in their uncle’s ability to save them from any eventuality.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

I couldn’t always keep things from my sister, of course.  I remember one day, when she had ridden off into the Grey Havens to buy them all some new clothes.  I had been left in charge and I took my eyes off them for five minutes.  They were young men now, handsome and cheeky, and I assumed, wrongly, that they had developed at least a modicum of common sense; and I needed to finish a farm implement that was already late for delivery.

 

Mistake.  They had only been left to their own devices for a short time when Kili came dashing into the forge, yelling for my help.  I knew things were serious this time because his face was white and drawn.  “I’ve shot him,” he shouted, grabbing me by the arm.

 

“You’ve what!” I exclaimed, not quite understanding.

 

“I accidentally shot him with my bow,” he said.  And fear was in his voice.

 

I grabbed a sheet off the mattress in the corner and ran with him to a spot a short distance away where Kili had been practising on a makeshift target.  “He got in the way – I don’t know how it happened,” he gasped as we ran.

 

Fili was lying in a semi-conscious state on the ground with an arrow through his shoulder.  There was a lot of blood but I knew there would be more after I had got the arrow out.  I ripped up the sheet into strips and also made a pad.  Setting this to one side, I tore open Fili’s shirt, broke off part of the shaft and pushed the head all the way through.  Fili groaned in pain and Kili turned whiter, if possible, biting his fist.  Then I roughly bound the wound and carried him back to the forge.  There I ordered Kili to sweep the table clear and I placed Fili upon it and hurried over to the furnace.

 

“What are you doing, Uncle?” Kili asked fearfully as I stuck an implement into the red-hot coals.  But, he already knew.

 

“Well,” I replied curtly, “if you don’t want your brother to bleed to death, I need to seal the wound.”  And he shut up, looking on wide-eyed.

 

“Hold him down,” I said quietly.  “Firmly, now.  He mustn’t move.”  And then I spoke to the still-conscious Fili and explained what I was about to do.  He nodded his understanding and I shoved a leather strap between his teeth for him to bite on.  The pad at his shoulder was totally blood-soaked by now and, when I removed it, the blood was still flowing from the wound.  I brought my iron from the fire and applied it.  He fainted, of course, and I got Kili to help me turn him over so that I could also seal the wound in his back.

 

“I feel sick,” Kili said suddenly, his hand going to his mouth, as the smell of burned flesh permeated the forge.  

 

“Run your head under the pump, lad,” I retorted.  “You did well.”

 

Between us, we got him to his truckle bed in the main room and, by the time his mother returned, he was awake and most of the colour had returned to his cheeks.

 

And was it Kili who got the telling off?  Of course not.  It was all my fault for leaving them on their own, playing with a lethal weapon, and for being more concerned about my work than the welfare of my nephews.  She raged on all evening but I took it on the chin because I knew this was a response to her fear – and I felt it was all my fault anyway.  But, just before we retired to our beds, she suddenly gave me a great hug and burst into tears upon my chest.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  And I just hugged her back.

 

.o00o.

 

They got older and their behaviour became wilder.  It was very difficult to get angry with them because they had such infectious grins.  “You speak to them, brother,” Dis would say.  “You’re the only one they’ll listen to.”  And this was true.  Whenever I shouted at them, it would upset them.  They sought my good opinion and they hated to lose it.  But their repentance was only momentary and they were soon gallivanting off on some silly expedition again.

 

The Grey Havens was an elven town although men lived there also.  Most dwarves could be found in communities outside the town but it was not uncommon for the younger ones to frequent the inns when they wanted a riotous time.  More and more, my nephews kept nagging their mother to let them go with friends into the town but, unsurprisingly, she didn’t trust them.  In the end, I agreed to go too so that there was someone to keep an eye on them.

 

Our party consisted of a small group of young lads, with me and Balin as their escorts.  I wasn’t too keen on the town – too many elves - and, somehow or other, both then and later in my life, the place always seemed to spell trouble for me.  But, inns like the Mithril Crown were usually only frequented by men and dwarves, which was fine by me, and everyone was forced to leave their weapons at the door to avoid the likelihood of serious injury should a fight break out.  It seemed safe enough.

 

Wrong.

 

We didn’t want to breathe down their necks and so Balin and I took ourselves off to a quiet parlour for a chat whilst the lads did their best to get drunk in the tap room.  Heavy drinking amongst the dwarven community was very common: it was a rite of passage.  “And they’ve got to find out somehow what it’s like to get up the next morning with a throbbing skull,” Balin laughed.  We had planned to stay at the inn so there was no concern about getting a whole load of drunken youngsters home late at night.  We had all learned the hard way about drunken binges and now it seemed like the turn of my nephews.

 

Balin and I spent a very pleasant few hours chatting together and sipping our drinks.  Now and again, I would pop my head around the door of the tap just to check out how things were going.  They were laughing and talking in a circle and, apart from a large collection of empty glasses on their table and their over-bright eyes, everything seemed to be going well.  But, just as I was beginning to think that it was getting late and that it was about time to tuck them into bed, we suddenly heard all this yelling and crashing from the bar.

 

How they told it later was that a large group of men, doubtless fonder of elves than dwarves, had been sitting in the corner glaring at them all evening.  Our lads got drunker and bolder and, finally, Kili had said something provocative to the men and all hell had broken loose.  It was a one-sided fight because the men were bigger, rougher, older and outnumbered the boys.  But, our lot put up a surprisingly good show and, seeing their determination, one of the men had slipped out to the porch from where he grabbed his cudgel.  He started laying viciously about him just as Balin and I entered the room.  We may have been dwarves and Balin a good age but we were seasoned warriors and we more than made up for our lack of height and numbers.

 

I managed to place myself between the cudgel and Fili and it caught me a glancing blow on the face.  But I barrelled into the man and, wresting the cudgel from his hand, soon drove the majority of the men from the room.  The rest were dealt with by Balin.

 

The room grew suddenly silent and all I could hear were the groans from some of our injured group.  The last thing I remember was seeing the landlord tutting on the threshold and then the room went black and a darkness descended. 

 

I came to, tucked up in one of the inn’s beds, with my nephews and Balin hovering anxiously over me.  I think it was the first time in their lives that the boys had had to worry about me and, when I saw my face in a mirror later, I could understand why: it was very badly bruised and grazed and, although it looked a lot worse than it actually was, I had lost consciousness and my injuries gave the two pause for thought.

 

After that, they had calmed down quite a lot.  They still got up to mischief – it was in their nature – but it was no longer of the serious kind.  They tried hard not to worry their mother and they always listened very respectfully to everything I said.

 

_(“And so, that was the end of it, was it grandfather?” smiled Rosie.  “They grew up and there were no more situations where they needed rescuing?”_

_Thorin suddenly laughed.  “Well, although it’s rather embarrassing to relate, Rosie,” he continued, “I think there’s time for one more story.”)_

.o00o.

Pt IV

 

I had taught my nephews everything I knew, determined to make them into adults who deserved the title, Heirs of Durin.  The trouble was, there was one area of knowledge where I remained in total ignorance and that was in the field of love and physical intimacy.  I had never – and don’t you laugh, Rosie – I had NEVER had a sweetheart.  I had never touched a woman or held her hand or kissed her on the lips.  I had certainly never done – you know.

 

Now, you might wonder at this: after all, I was a prince and people also tell me that I am passably good-looking….  _(No!  VERY good-looking, grandfather!” Rosie exclaimed.  Thorin smiled but continued.)_ Well, let’s say I had a lot going for me.  But, strangely, it might seem - to outsiders, at least - everyone kept me at a polite distance.  Perhaps there were dwarf women who desired me but I was a Prince of Erebor and deserved the utmost respect.  If and when I married, then it would be a complex procedure: it would not be my choice nor my people’s choice but would be one of duty and doubtless organised by committee.  And so, no-one harassed me with unlooked for attentions, nor did I go seeking out a bride myself because all my thoughts were bent utterly and completely on my return to Erebor and I subsumed any physical restlessness in the pursuit of my craft.  Once I had reclaimed my kingdom, only then would I think about marriage.

And so, my nephews received no lessons in the art of love, at least not from me.  But, behind my back, they began to improve their knowledge without my help, both at the dwarven settlement and in the town.  They were such good-looking boys – Kili so dark and Fili very fair – and with a natural charm so that it seemed to me, even from my casual observation, that dwarves of both sexes were drawn to their side and wanted to be in their company.  They always seemed to be surrounded by a merry throng up at the dwarven settlement and, once they were old enough to go on their own into town, I didn’t, of course, know what went on there.

 

In this field of knowledge, it was me who was the innocent one.

 

.o00o.

 

It so happened one day when I was up at the settlement, staying with Dis, that I first came across two sisters, Freyja and Gertha.  I had never met them before because they were not from the families of Erebor but their parents and their ancestors for many generations had lived in the Blue Mountains.  Moreover, their family belonged to that rare group: dwarves who had chosen to live in the Grey Havens.  But now, they and their family had returned, seeking the companionship of their own kind.

 

The two of them were sitting in the shade of a tree together with Fili and Kili as I rode up to my sister’s home.  And this surprised me because it was quite unusual to see even one dwarf woman in their company let alone two, the ratio of male to female being at least three to one.

 

My nephews introduced us to each other and I had to admit that they were fine-looking young women.  My tastes in beauty have changed ever since I met Tauriel but, then, these two appealed to my dwarven sensibilities.  They made me think of my nephews in one respect because Freyja  was fair and Gertha was dark.  Their hair was incredibly thick and luxuriant and their figures were rounded and voluptuous.  And part of their attraction was their manner: they had learned “town ways”.  They were far more forward than your average dwarf woman and the way they laughed and looked cheekily at me from under coy, dark lashes was very appealing to me.  And, for the first time since I had been besotted in my youth with Kagris, all those years ago in Erebor, when I had been only a boy and she had laughed at my infatuation, I found my interest stirring.

 

My nephews had invited me to sit down with them under the tree and we all laughed and talked and whiled away the sunny afternoon together until I reluctantly got up to do what I was meant to do: visit my sister.  As I led my horse away, I heard Kili say: “So, you like him, then?”  And his question was greeted with tinkling laughter.

 

Over the next months, I saw the sisters quite frequently and I was annoyed with myself that I thought about them so much because romance should have been way down on my list of important things to do.  The boys teased me, of course: “So, which one, uncle, do you prefer?” they would ask.  And I would tell them it was none of their business.  But, if truth be told, I didn’t have a preference and, in a strange way, I thought of them as one person.

 

.o00o.

 

One summer’s day, I was working in my forge when I heard the sound of hooves.  And when I went to look, I found the two girls riding into the yard on one horse and they laughed and waved at me.

 

“Come on, Thorin, don’t be boring.  We’re going on a picnic down by the river.  Pack up for the day and come with us.”  And I couldn’t help but grin and be carried away by their enthusiasm.  So, I gathered together a few contributions towards the picnic and then the three of us sauntered down to the river bank together.  And I’m telling you now, Rosie, that if I had known then what I know now about the reputation of river banks, I would never have gone with them!

 

.o00o.

 

It all started well.  We sat in the sun and ate the food and drank the wine, chatting in an amiable fashion together.  But then the atmosphere changed a little: I was sitting with my back to a tree whilst they had positioned themselves either side of me.  I can pinpoint the exact moment when I felt that things were beginning to get a little uncomfortable – it was when they edged closer and propped themselves up under my arms, leaning against my chest and preventing me from using my own hands to eat and drink.

 

Freyja was holding a glass of wine and Gertha had a bowl of grapes in her lap.  Giggling, Freyja held the glass to my lips and I was obliged to take a sip.  The wine stained my lips and I could feel it trickling from the corner of my mouth.  “Messy creature,” said Freyja in a husky whisper and she leaned forward and delicately licked the wine from my lips with a pink tongue.

 

I can’t explain adequately my reaction or the thoughts that ran through my mind at that moment.  Her action truly disturbed me - and not in a nice way.  I suppose that my upbringing and my lack of interaction with the opposite sex had made me very reserved; her behaviour seemed totally inappropriate and I felt uneasy and no longer in control.  Yes, I will admit that the touch of her tongue upon my lips was very sensuous and a little shiver ran through me but I just didn’t know how to handle such things.

 

And then Gertha gave a quiet chuckle and slowly eased one of her grapes into my reluctant mouth.  “Here,” she said, “they’re delicious.  Let me feed you.”

 

I was wary and silent, but I allowed her to push several of the grapes into my mouth whilst they both laughed at my obvious discomfort.  And I was just wondering how to extricate myself politely from the situation, when she placed a grape between her sharp, white teeth and pressed the purple globe to my lips.  I had no choice but to take it from her.  And, as our mouths came together, I received my first, proper, adult kiss.

 

My reaction was one of total confusion.  I liked it – and yet I didn’t.  I responded but, at the same time, I pulled away.  Her tongue chased mine and an erotic thrill ran through me – and yet I felt vaguely repulsed.  I had never flirted in my life and I just didn’t know what to do.

 

In the end, she gave her little laugh and, to my relief, drew back from me.  But then Freyja started up again.  She reached up to the top button of my shirt and undid it.  “Have you got any tattoos?” she asked curiously, as she undid a second button.  I tried to distract her from my buttons by saying lightly: “Well, I have a few on my arms.”  And I told them how my nephews used to push up my sleeves as children in search of them. 

 

But, they refused to be sidetracked.  Gertha undid a third button and pushed my shirt from one shoulder.  “Oh, look,” she cooed, “he’s got one here!”  And, indeed, I did – a rather elaborate one that I was rather proud of – not least because it had been so painful – and which ran from one shoulder to the other across my back.

 

“What a beauty!” murmured Freyja and she traced the pattern with her finger.  And I felt like an interesting object under close scrutiny.  “Has he got one on the other shoulder?” she asked her sister and Gertha undid two more buttons and pulled my shirt down further.

 

I don’t think I have ever felt so helpless.  My arms were still trapped and, although I could easily have thrown the girls off, I was reluctant to do so because I felt as if I were caught in the middle of a game to which I didn’t know the rules.

 

They had my whole shirt flung open now and were gleefully examining me with probing fingers, searching for any more.  My flesh twitched and my body clenched but they were far from done with me yet.  They had found the tattoos that dipped below the level of my belt which Freyja was now undoing with skilful fingers.

 

And then……my knights in shining armour arrived to rescue me!  Into the glade came striding Fili and Kili.  “Hello, girls!  Hello, Uncle Thorin!” they laughed as they threw themselves down on the grass next to them and helped themselves to some of the food.  They behaved as if they hadn’t noticed my state of disarray.  The girls looked annoyed but moved away from me, giving me the chance to hastily do up my buttons.  And then I was given a lesson in how to manage difficult women.

 

My nephews totally charmed them.  They smiled and winked and joked and flattered until Freyja and Gertha seemed to have forgotten about me completely and were flirting with their new beaux.  In the end, the boys took them for a walk along the river bank and, left alone at last, I quickly cleared away the remnants of the picnic and made all haste back to the sanctuary of my forge.

 

An hour later, I heard their voices in the yard and the clip-clop of hooves as my nephews cheerfully called a farewell to the sisters.  And then they both marched into the forge and stood glowering at me, their arms folded across their chests in some strange reversal of roles.

 

“What on earth did you think you were doing?” snapped Fili.  “Don’t you know anything about anything, uncle?” 

 

What a strange echo of my usual reprimands to THEM!

 

I immediately sprang to my own defence.  “Well, perhaps I was having fun and you two interrupted at just the wrong moment,” I growled at them.

 

Kili let out a shout of laughter.  “Oh, yes?!” he spluttered in disbelief.  “They had your clothes half off and you looked like a trapped animal!  Surely you knew what they were up to?  Going down to the river bank with them was just about the most stupid thing ever!”

 

“Well, what _were_ they up to?” I asked sullenly.  But, actually, I was very curious to know.

 

“They were after an Heir of Durin – any Heir of Durin – they weren’t fussy,” said Fili.  I felt quite insulted.  “We’ve been keeping them at arm’s length for weeks now and we thought you were clever enough to do the same.  But,” he continued, giving his brother a look, “we were obviously wrong.”

 

“I warned you he wasn’t on the ball, Fili, and that we should have sat him down and given him some advice,” grumbled Kili.

 

“But, would he have listened to us?” asked Fili with a raised eyebrow.  “I think not!”  This conversation was getting weirder and weirder. Then he turned back to me and waggled an admonitory finger: “If either of them had got you into bed, that would have been the end of it, wouldn’t it?  An unwanted betrothal!  You’re lucky we turned up in time to save you from their clutches!”

 

I glared at them and they glared back at me.  And then I suddenly saw the funny side of things and I burst out laughing.  And, after a startled pause, they joined in.  I held up my hands in surrender.  “You’re right, boys.  I admit it.  I know nothing about love and you two are obviously experts.  I bow to your superior knowledge in this field and I’m just very glad that you turned up at that truly excrutiating moment.”

 

“Any time, uncle,” they grinned.  And we adjourned to the house and cracked open a few bottles of beer.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, grandfather,” giggled Rosie.  “That was such a funny story.”  And then she fell silent for a while.  “If only I could have met them.  I know I would have loved them.”_

_“I loved them,” said Thorin quietly.  “When they went down fighting on that battlefield, I think it was the worst moment of my existence and, for a time, I felt drained of joy.  If it hadn’t been for Tauriel, I don’t know what would have become of me - because you need love and laughter in your life, you see, and they gave it to me.”_

_Rosie put her arms about Thorin’s neck.  “You’ve got us now,” she said.  “Forever.”_

 

_Thorin smiled.  “Yes, and that must be the very best thing about the Undying Lands,” he said.  And they walked outside, arm in arm, and joined Tauriel in the sun.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like this one, LOL?
> 
> Well, we’ve just had the first mention of Thorin’s tattoos in this story and the next story continues the theme. Thorin and the Tattoos will be posted in a few days' time. Why does Thorin have tattoos and what are their significance? And will Arion want one too and will Tauriel or Mary Sue object? I’ve got a bit of a feeling about Tauriel, LOL!


	48. Thorin and the Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s taken me nearly 50 stories to get around to mentioning Thorin’s tattoos. How very remiss of me! Time to make up for things and tell you where he has them and what they signify, I think.

All About Thorin….and Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Tattoos

 

Pt I

 

“They’re yours for life,” grumbled  Tauriel about her children, as she lay in bed early one morning in the crook of Thorin’s arm.  “Why can’t we just give them away?”

 

“What’s happened now, my love?” laughed Thorin, giving his wife a comforting squeeze.

 

“I’ve had a row with Arion,” she grimaced, turning in the dwarf’s powerful arm and snuggling up to him.

 

“Oh dear,” commiserated Thorin, trying to sound interested but finding Tauriel’s body, all warm and soft against his own, rather distracting.  “What about?”

 

The elf placed a finger on the elaborate tattoo that rippled artistically across his shoulder and then plunged in a fascinating way down towards his biceps, doing a sinuous dance as he moved.  It covered both shoulders and disappeared behind his neck to wind its way across his back.

 

“Tattoos,” she sighed.

 

Thorin’s eyes brightened.  “He wants a tattoo, does he?” he said, looking pleased.  They were a feature of masculine, dwarven culture and he was delighted that his son wanted to join the club.  “So, what’s the problem?”

 

“Oh, I knew it would be no use talking to you,” she grumbled, sitting up and reaching for her robe.

 

“Hey!” he grunted, pulling her back down upon the pillow.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Well,” she mumbled against his chest, “you dwarves obviously stick together: what we elves might call self-mutilation, you dwarves call artistic expression.  But, my son’s not a dwarf – he’s half-elven.”

 

“And half-dwarven too!” snapped Thorin, beginning to feel a bit annoyed.  “Tattoos are part of what he is and if he wants one, who are you to say he can’t have one?  He’s a married man, after all.”

 

“I’m his mother,” said Tauriel rather tetchily, “and I shall always be his mother.  Why can’t I voice an opinion when it comes to something as important as this?”

 

“But, what’s so important?!” exclaimed her husband.  “It’s only a tattoo we’re talking about, for goodness’ sake.  He’s not exactly suggesting that he cut off a hand!”

 

Tauriel pulled herself away and sat up in bed.  “You just don’t understand, do you?  It’s associative.  Dwarves wear tattoos and elves don’t.  Dwarves wear earrings - and elves don’t.  I was quite upset when he persuaded Mary Sue to pierce his ear with a darning-needle so that he could wear one of your gold earrings.  But, at least an earring can be removed.  A tattoo can’t.”

 

Thorin lay on his pillow looking up at her with his mouth open.  “Are you saying, after all these years, that you find my tattoos repugnant?”

 

Tauriel wrinkled her nose and thought about it.  “Well, umm, no,” she finally said.  “I suppose I find them quite sexy.”  And she bent to kiss the one shaped like a bracelet just above his elbow and ran her finger slowly along the line of dwarven script that arced in a curve below his navel.

 

Thorin twitched and then said angrily: “So, you enjoy them but you’d deprive Mary Sue of the same pleasure.  By Mahal, why?!”

 

“It’s the principal of the thing,” she pondered, still tracing the patterns.  “Elves find the concept repugnant - even if I’ve come to accept them as far as you’re concerned.  They suit you because you’re a dwarf and so they look right – and you’ve always had them.  But, I must admit that I was a little shocked when I first saw you naked.  However, Arion doesn’t look like a dwarf and so it just seems totally wrong to me.  And, what if, after he has had it done, he changes his mind?  It’s too late then.”

 

“There are many things one does that one may regret later,” muttered Thorin.  “It’s called ‘living’.  And this is such a small thing – scarcely worth arguing about.  And nothing will happen, anyway, until Arion writes a story about it.”

 

“So, let’s get our foot in the door first,” said Tauriel.  “ _You_ write a story, Thorin.  But you’d better make sure that it’s one I shall be happy with.”

 

With a sigh, the dwarf pulled himself from the bed and stomped to the dining-room.  There he opened the laptop and typed:

 

Thorin and the Tattoos

 

When Arion told Mary Sue about his idea, she was a bit taken aback and thought for a long time before replying: “Well, it’s not quite the same as wanting an earring and even that was bad enough.”

 

She remembered how Arion had shown her a beautifully crafted gold earring some months after her arrival in the Undying Lands.  “Where’s the other one?” she had asked, hoping it was a present for her.

 

He had laughed.  “There isn’t another one.  It’s a dwarven earring, given me by my father, and I want to wear it.”

 

“So, wear it,” she had said.  But, the problem was, he had no piercing.

 

“I could ask my father to do it, I suppose,” he continued, “but then my mother would find out and she would oppose the idea.”

 

“Why on earth would she do that?” she had asked in surprise.  A number of her male friends back in her own world wore single earrings and it was no big deal.

 

“Well, it’s very associative with dwarven culture and the elves see it as barbaric.”

 

Mary Sue was all for shocking stuffy people.  “You don’t have to wear it in your ear where everyone can see it and disapprove of it,” she giggled.  “You could wear it through a nipple or perhaps your navel – and then you could repulse everyone when you took off your clothes to go swimming.”

 

They both had a good laugh at the thought of that and spent an amusing hour discussing where the ring could go for maximum shock effect.

 

“How about through the tongue?” she suggested at one point.  “That’s quite common in my world.”

 

But, although dwarves pierced most parts of their bodies, this was a step too far for even Arion and he raised his eyebrows in horror.

 

Then they spent another hour discussing how best to go about it, if they were to do the piercing quietly between themselves.  In the end, it was decided that a thick darning needle would do the job most efficiently.

 

So, where to place this ring?  Arion winced at the thought of being pierced anywhere except through the ear, much to Mary Sue’s disappointment, and so a cork was also found which could be placed behind the ear and give support as the needle went through.

 

Arion wasn’t too sure how much he trusted Mary Sue to do the job safely and efficiently and it took a couple of days for him to gear himself up to what would most likely be a bit of an endurance test.  “Baby,” she teased him gently.  “And when I think of all you went through as a soldier up at the outpost, fighting off those orcs.”

 

“Well,” muttered Arion in his own defence, “you’re really pumped up when you fight and you don’t feel anything when you’re wounded.  This requires me to sit down and willingly let myself be hurt.”

 

But, in the end, he marched into the kitchen and announced: “Right!  I’m ready for it!”  And the deed was done.

 

When it came to it, the piercing lasted only a quick, almost pain-free second with only the smallest drop of blood being shed.  And Arion was soon wearing his earring proudly.  Mostly, it was hidden by his long, dark hair and it took Tauriel a few days before she noticed the glint of gold.  Thorin whooped but Tauriel was annoyed.  “Do you have to go out of your way to remind the locals how different you are from them?” she snapped.

 

“But father wears several rings and cuffs in his ears,” protested Arion, “and none of the elves seem to mind.”

 

“Well,” his mother snorted, “that’s because he’s, you know, just….Thorin!”  And that was all the explanation she could offer.

 

But, the fuss soon died down.  Arion continued to wear his earring and no-one commented on it unless to ask him for a look out of curiosity.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“You want WHAT?!” Mary Sue had exclaimed.

 

“A tattoo,” muttered Arion rather sulkily at his wife’s reaction.

 

Mary Sue stared and then started to laugh.  “Your mother will never speak to you again.”

 

“I’ve already broached it with her and she was none too pleased at the idea.  But, I’m a grown man,” he continued, grumpily kicking the table leg.  “I can do what I like with my own body.”

 

“Well,” asked his wife, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him, “what if I found it repulsive and couldn’t bear for you to touch me again?”

 

Arion looked startled.  “DO you find tattoos repulsive?” he asked.  “You were all for me having a piercing you-know-where, and if that’s not repulsive then I don’t know what is.  Tattoos are works of art in comparison.”

 

“I think it all depends on the sort of tattoo you want and where you want it,” she said slowly.

 

“W-e-e-l-l….”  He hesitated because he knew that what he wanted might be a lot to ask.  “Would you mind one on my back?”

 

“Probably not,” she said.  “At least I couldn’t normally see it there.  Describe it to me.”

 

Arion’s eyes lit up and he began to wax lyrical.  “Well, you remember how I told you how I fought off those three orcs when a whole band of them attacked the outpost – I think I’d like it commemorated.”

 

“You mean, like in a sentence written in Khuzdul inside a decorative plaque or something?  I could live with that.”

 

“Umm, no.  I’d like a pictorial representation.”  And he looked vaguely embarrassed.  “It would cover my whole back.”

 

“No!!” gasped Mary Sue.  “You mean, like a picture of you fighting the three orcs?  How awful – and a bit arrogant too.  And who would you get to do such a complicated thing anyway?  The elves wouldn’t do it and that leaves only Thorin and Gimli.  I just wouldn’t trust them.”

 

“Well – er – I thought you could do it.  You’re so artistic and everything.”  This was true.  Mary Sue was often to be found in Thorin’s forge, working alongside him and finding an outlet for her creativity.

 

“But, if it took you two days before you allowed me to stick one needle through your ear, how do you think you’ll cope with a million stabbings in your back?”  And she rolled her eyes in disbelief.

 

But Arion did notice that she didn’t reject the idea outright or deny her artistry.  He even saw a little interested gleam appear.  He would persuade her yet.

 

“I need ideas,” she continued.  “A picture covering your whole back is just not on as far as I’m concerned, but tell me what else you could have done.”

 

He grinned.  “I won’t tell you, I’ll show you – if he’s willing.  My father has a number of tattoos done in traditional dwarven patterns.  He’s never shown me properly but, perhaps if we ask nicely, he’ll let us have a look.”

 

“Why have you never seen them?” asked Mary Sue curiously.  “Anyone would think he’d be proud of them and would be showing them off all the time.”

 

“I think that ever since he married my mother,” said Arion with a note of sadness in his voice, “and started mixing with elves, he has become a bit ashamed of them.  They’re usually covered up by his shirt and, when he works in the forge with a short-sleeved singlet on, he disguises the bracelet-style tattoos just above his elbows with real arm-rings.”

 

“What a pity,” exclaimed Mary Sue.  “But does that mean that he will be too embarrassed to show us?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Arion replied.  “I think he just may be rather pleased to show off a bit of dwarven design to someone who’s interested.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“Hello, you two,” grinned Thorin as Mary Sue and Arion came into his home.  “What do you want?”

 

“Why is it that you always suspect us of wanting something from you whenever we turn up?” asked Arion.

 

“Because it’s usually true,” said Tauriel as she came into the room with a pot of tea and a plate of cakes.

 

“Well, this time,” sniffed Arion, “we’ve come to see father.  In fact we want to see more of father than we normally see.”  And Mary Sue laughed.

 

“And what does that mean?” asked Tauriel suspiciously.

 

Arion gritted his teeth.  After the row they had had together a few days earlier, he wished that his mother were off somewhere else so that he and Mary Sue could just have a few quiet words with Thorin on their own.

 

When he hesitated to answer her, the penny suddenly dropped.  “You’re here to talk with your father about tattoos, aren’t you?” she asked sourly.

 

“Er, yes,” answered her son, but since his father was looking very pleased, he had the courage to press on.

 

“If I decide to have a tattoo, father,” he said, turning towards him, “Mary Sue might be willing to do it and she would like to see your tattoos so that she has some idea about what she has agreed to take on.  And I would be interested to see them, too, because you always keep them covered up.”  And then he turned to Tauriel.  “I don’t know if you realise it, mother, but he’s ashamed of them – and surely that’s not right?”

 

Tauriel looked startled.  “You’re not really ashamed of them, are you, Thorin?  I thought you took a great pride in your tattoos.”  And she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

 

Thorin looked down and shuffled his feet a bit.  “Well, if truth be told, I’m proud and ashamed in equal measure.  In a purely dwarven culture, I’d be flaunting them all the time.  I’d be marching around with my shirt off, even in winter.”  And he laughed.  “But, living here amongst the elves, I’ve had some pretty strange looks when the odd elf has glimpsed my tattoos and it makes me want to keep them covered up.”

 

Tauriel blinked.  “I honestly didn’t know you felt that way.”

 

“Well, I don’t mind with some people.  The hobbits and Gandalf are fine with them and Legolas has seen them but he has no problem because of Gimli, who’s got a great selection of tattoos of his own.  When I was digging Bilbo’s hobbit hole the other day, for instance, and was stripped to the waist because it was so hot, Legolas turned up and didn’t flinch, of course, but then Thranduil and Gimli came in search of him.  Thranduil gave me such a look of disgust and even Gimli was disapproving because I was exposing my tattoos to elves.  I was so annoyed that I kept my shirt off much longer than necessary, just to irritate them and make a point.”

 

Tauriel looked upset and gave Thorin a hug.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know this was such a big issue for you.  But, surely, if they have made your life uncomfortable here, you wouldn’t want to wish the same thing on your son?”

 

“Isn’t that up to me to decide?” asked Arion quietly.  “Perhaps it’s about time that father and I made a stand.  If I have one done, I’m certainly not going to hide it away.  And, the more that our elven friends and neighbours see them, the more they will find them acceptable.  And who cares about Thranduil, anyway?”  And they all laughed.

 

Then Mary Sue told them both about Arion’s original idea and even Thorin looked appalled.  “And, that’s why we need to see Thorin’s tattoos so that he knows what a real one looks like and so that we can get some ideas,” she said.

 

Rather reluctantly, Thorin undid his buttons and removed his shirt.  Mary Sue sighed.  “You have a beautiful body, Thorin,” she said.  “What a magnificent canvas it makes.  But, that’s not to say,” she added, hastily turning to Arion, “that yours isn’t beautiful too.  Like father, like son.”

 

“I’ve got four of them,” muttered Thorin rather shyly.  “The elaborate one that runs from shoulder to shoulder; the two ‘bracelets’ on my arms and one you can’t see properly at the moment because most of that one’s below my navel.”  And he turned a bit pink. 

 

“What lovely patterns!” exclaimed Mary Sue, as she examined the angular, dwarven style. 

 

“They’re not just patterns,” said Thorin, pleased at her appreciation.  “Some of it is Khuzdul and they all mean something.  That’s why we have them done – not just to create a pretty pattern but because they reflect something significant in our lives.”

 

“I didn’t know that either,” said Tauriel and she was beginning to feel a bit ashamed that she had never asked Thorin to explain them before.  And then she led them all to the sofas and made them sit down.  “I think it’s about time, Thorin, that you told us all about them.”

 

.o00o.

 

The three family members sat around him, eyeing his tattoos with interest and Thorin suddenly felt very bashful.

 

“Well, my first one was the one across my shoulders.  I had it done when I was quite a young dwarf, just reaching maturity.”

 

“Wow!” said Mary Sue, studying the intricate and involved pattern that wound its way across his back, from shoulder to shoulder.  “It’s so elaborate. I can’t believe you had it done first.  It must have been very painful.”

 

Thorin grimaced.  “Yes, it was, but that was the whole point.  We youngsters saw it as a rite of passage – an endurance test – and we were inordinately proud of the most elaborate ones that had caused us the most pain.  However, although it’s finished now, it wasn’t at the time.  I gave up after only the outline had been done.”

 

Arion’s eyes were wide.  If his father hadn’t managed to cope with the pain but had abandoned the idea before completion, then perhaps he wouldn’t be able to cope either.  “Did it hurt THAT much?” he asked.

 

Thorin gave a snort of laughter and then looked uncomfortable as he thought of that time, so long ago, and the memories came flooding back.  “It wasn’t because of the pain – it was because of my brother, Frerin.”  And his blue eyes darkened as he thought of that brother who was no more and he recalled the incident with the tattoo.  Tauriel took his hand.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

“No, it wasn’t the pain,” said Thorin again.  “I expect you all know by now about my infatuation with the dwarf woman, Kagris.  I was obsessed with her.  However, she had no time for me but favoured Frerin, much to my brother’s glee.  There was a lot of rivalry between us and he loved getting one over me.

 

“Anyway, he found me being tattooed by an elderly dwarf – one of our experts – and he picked up the pattern that I had helped to design before I could stop him.  He roared with laughter, screwed it up and threw it on the floor.  ‘You little fool,’ he said.  And then he walked, still laughing, from the room.”

 

“Why was he laughing?” whispered Tauriel gently, still holding Thorin’s hand.

 

Thorin sighed: the memory was very painful in more ways than one.  “He was laughing because the design wasn’t just a pattern but involved Kagris’ Khuzdul name.”

 

Tauriel dropped Thorin’s hand and said indignantly: “So, are you telling me that I’ve been sleeping with Kagris around your neck all these years?”  It seemed like an insult.

 

Thorin smiled wanly.  “Of course you haven’t.  It was Frerin’s scorn that stopped me before it was finished.  It was completed some time later – I’ll tell you all about it when we get there.”

 

Mary Sue touched one of the bracelets.  “Were these done next?”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin.  “That one on my right arm was done after the dragon came and we survivors became refugees.  We stayed with Dain in the Iron Hills first but became tired of living off the generosity of our kin; that’s when we set out for Ered Luin.  But, I had that done as a reminder whilst we lived in the Iron Hills.”

 

“A reminder of what?” asked Arion.  “Of the dragon?”

 

“In part.”

 

“And what does it signify?”  asked Mary Sue, looking closely at the detail.  “Are those Khuzdul words I can see?”

 

“Very perceptive,” smiled Thorin.  “Yes, it says: ‘Never forgive.  Never forget.’”

 

“I wouldn’t have thought you needed a tattoo to remind you about Smaug,” she said, frowning.

 

“Right again,” the dwarf murmured.  “But I was speaking about the elves.  As we stumbled out of Erebor with the dragon at our backs, we had no food, no proper clothing, few weapons, no tools.  All we had were the things we were wearing or carrying the moment the dragon came.  And we were in a state of shock.  We desperately needed help but the elves shut themselves away in Mirkwood and ignored us so that we were left to wander in the wilderness until we reached the Iron Hills. Perhaps they were afraid of Smaug but I think it might even have been a deliberate ploy to get rid of us forever from the area.  We nearly died and they didn’t care.”

 

His audience sat in silence for a long time, Arion and Tauriel feeling ashamed of their elven blood.  Then Tauriel reached out and held his hand again.  “You may not have forgotten, Thorin, but you _have_ forgiven.  This is why tattoos are such a bad idea.  You have them done for the wrong reasons and then regret them because you change.”

 

“I shall never regret having that one done,” said Thorin.  “It reminds me that people and their attitudes are not set in stone.  It’s a message of hope.”

 

“That’s a nice way of looking at things,” said Mary Sue.  “And what about the other bracelet.  Is that a message of hope too?”

 

“I suppose it’s all according how you look at it,” sighed Thorin.  “It says: ‘Beyond the Count of Grief’.  It’s how Balin summed up our losses at the Battle of Azanulbizar which was fought before the Gates of Moria against the orcs.  I lost my brother and my grandfather; then my father went mad and disappeared.  It seemed like the end of all things to me that day.  And yet……here I am, years later, happy and contented.  The dead are no longer beyond the count of grief because I can grieve for them all now…... and I often do.”

 

They sat in silence again.  So many dreadful things had happened in Thorin’s life, far worse than had ever happened in their own.  And yet he never whinged on about his suffering but just got on with things.  Arion felt proud that Thorin was his father; Mary Sue felt uplifted that she had married into his family; and Tauriel hastily wiped away a surreptitious tear.

 

Mary Sue tried to drive away the sadness that had descended.  “Come on, then, Thorin,” she laughed.  “Are you going to show us the one below your navel?”  And she dug him in the ribs.

 

Thorin looked a bit uncomfortable.  “Well, it doesn’t seem quite right to pull down my breeches in front of a young girl like you.”

 

“But, it might help if you knew,” she said, grinning, “that I have seen plenty of my male friends in Speedos back in my own world.”

 

“Speedos?” he asked.

 

She laughed again.  “Tight, skimpy bits of cloth fashioned into underpants that young men wear when they go swimming.  They just about cover the genitals.  And so I can’t imagine that you merely lowering your breeches slightly will be more daring than that.”

 

Reluctantly, Thorin undid his belt and then edged down his breeches so that they hung low on his hips, exposing the semi-circle of Khuzdul script.  They all studied it carefully but, since none of them knew Khazdul, the words were meaningless.

 

“Is there another bitter story attached to that?” Arion asked carefully.

 

“No,” replied his father.  “That one makes me smile because it reminds me of my friends.”

 

“So, what does it say?” asked Tauriel?

 

“’Loyalty, Honour and a Willing Heart’,” said Thorin quietly.  “When I called, they came, even when Dain of the Iron Hills would not.  They were my companions and my brothers and they went bravely with me into the jaws of hell.”

 

They all sat in silent contemplation once more and Tauriel and Arion remembered that rowdy, courageous, exceptional group of dwarves who had accompanied Thorin on his quest into the unknown.

 

Then: “That just leaves the ‘Kagris’ one on your shoulders, Thorin,” Tauriel said tartly.  “How was it eventually finished off?”

 

“With a woman’s name, of course,” he grinned.

 

Tauriel glared.  “So, who is this mystery woman I know nothing about and who you’ve been carrying around with you all these years?”

 

“It’s ‘Tauriel’, my love,” he smiled.  “Who else would it be?”  And, as she stood open-mouthed, he took her in his arms and kissed her whilst the other two laughed and clapped.

 

“I had it done when you went off to Rivendell and I thought I would never see you again.  Your name was the only thing I had left of you.”

 

“Ohh……. _Thorin_!” she cried, thumping him on the chest.  “You _stupid_ dwarf!”  And she hugged him fiercely, then stood back and said: “Now, for goodness’ sake, pull up those breeches and put on your shirt!”  She dabbed her eyes a little as he did so, thought quietly for a moment and then said:  “All right.  If Arion wants a tattoo, I shan’t oppose the idea.”  And there were cheers and hugs all round.

 

.o00o.

 

A week later, if anyone had walked past Arion’s home, they would have heard a series of yelps, groans and exclamations. Mary Sue had taken lessons in the principles of tattooing from Thorin and then she had practised on a side of pork that was hanging in the pantry.  “Are you sure about this?” she had asked Arion before she stuck the first needle in. He had nodded grimly…..and then the yelping began.

 

Mary Sue had sketched out some pretty simple designs and so, when all was agreed, they didn’t take long to do.

 

.o00o.

 

“Are you ready for the revelation?” Mary Sue asked giggling as she stuck her head around Thorin’s front door.

 

Tauriel pulled a face.  “I hope I won’t regret that I agreed to this,” she said.  But then she pushed Thorin to a seat and they both sat down, ready for the show.  Mary Sue did a drum roll on the wooden table and then Arion entered with a dramatic swirl of his cloak.

 

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be upset by the first one, mother.  It’s very small.”

 

“The first one?” groaned Tauriel.  “There are more than one?  Please help me through this, Thorin,” she said and she closed her eyes.

 

“No, look, mother, look!  You won’t mind this, I promise!”  And she opened her eyes to see his cloak on the floor and the buttons of his shirt being speedily undone.  He turned around and pulled down the shirt from one shoulder and Tauriel half expected to see something elaborate and dramatic like Thorin’s.  Instead, she had to get to her feet and peer closely before she could see what it was.  On Arion’s shoulder blade was a tiny heart shape and, inside, in flowing elven script, were the letters ‘MS’.

 

“It’s for ‘Mary Sue’!” crowed Mary Sue and gave the tattoo a smacking kiss.  And the two of them collapsed into giggles.

 

“Very sweet, dear,” said Tauriel, relieved that it was nothing worse.  She could live with that.  And the elven script was a nice touch.

 

“But, how about this one?” Arion added, stripping off his shirt completely.

 

Tauriel’s heart sank.  He had one of those very dwarven bracelets just above the elbow.  She peered closely again.  This time, the sentiment was in Khuzdul once more.  “What does it say?” she asked.  “I suppose it’s some bloodthirsty war cry to remind you of your battles with the orcs – something like ‘Khazâd ai-mênu! - The dwarves are upon you!’  This was the only dwarvish phrase she knew – although she wasn’t going to let her son know that she had learned it from Thorin when he had once thrown her playfully upon the bed and had then pounced laughingly on top of her.

 

“No, no!” chuckled Arion.  “It’s something more terrifying than that!”  And his wife collapsed giggling again.

 

Then he took her hands tenderly in his own: “It says…..” – and his voice was very gentle – “….it says ‘Mother’.”  And he bent down gravely and kissed her on the forehead.

 

Tauriel stared wide-eyed for a moment and then she burst into tears.  Thorin pulled her into his arms and they all had a group hug.  The elf finally dried her eyes and said: “Now, at last, I understand the power of the tattoo.  Thank you.  I’m glad you had them done.”

 

.o00o.

 

That night in bed, Tauriel was studying Thorin’s tattoos more closely than she had ever done before.  “I suppose they _are_ quite beautiful – in a way,” she said.

 

“And, of course,” he grinned, “very, very sexy.”

 

“Yes, we mustn’t forget that aspect,” she added, smiling seductively.  And she began to kiss them one by one, just to show him how very, very sexy they indeed were.

 

“Ahh,” sighed Thorin, as her lips trailed across his body, “what would a dwarf be without his tattoos?”

 

“A lot less satisfied, I should think,” purred Tauriel as she turned off the light.

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Painting. The elves ask Thorin if he will pose for a large painting which they want to hang on the wall of the Moot Hall. That’ll make his day, LOL! Or will it? Especially when he finds out exactly what scene in his life they want to commemorate.


	49. Thorin and the Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what do elves hang on their walls? Well, paintings, just like the rest of us do. And what are the subjects of these paintings? Down at the Moot Hall, they have a load of HUGE paintings, all detailing the history of the elves. So, where does Thorin fit in? Read on and find out, LOL!

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Painting

 

Pt I

 

“Do you ever miss being a king, Thorin?” Tauriel asked idly one morning.  They had woken up early and were wasting a bit of time before going off to Poppy’s house for breakfast.  She was lying with her chin upon her husband’s chest whilst he enjoyed playing with her silken hair and wondering if there was enough time for…..

 

“What?” he said.

 

“Being king.  Do you miss it?” she repeated.

 

He thought for a moment and then said: “In many ways, no.  But, if it doesn’t make me sound too arrogant, I enjoyed being famous…..I liked walking down the street and everyone knowing who I was.  I liked being asked my opinion and people waiting respectfully for an answer.  And I also liked it that everyone knew about my famous deeds and made up songs about them.  Does that sound awful?”

 

“Yes, really awful,” she laughed, slapping him on the wrist and then immediately kissing it better.  “You sound just like Thranduil.”

 

“Well,” said Thorin in a snotty voice that was a perfect, languid imitation of the arrogant elf lord’s, “we kings are a superior breed and deserve a bit of respect.”

 

“Ah, yes, but it’s my opinion that you have to earn respect.  So, what are you going to do to deserve mine?” she asked, giggling.

 

“Hmm,” pondered her husband.  “We’ve got a couple of hours.  Is that enough time in which to earn your respect…..If I really try hard and get stuck in…..?”

 

Actually, it only took an hour and Tauriel, getting up thoughtfully, left Thorin asleep and went off to start a new story on the laptop.

 

Thorin and the Painting _(she typed)_

 

Thorin was lying on his back in bed, his hands clasped behind his head.  “I just cannot believe those elves want to paint a picture of me,” he said, his voice full of wonder.  Since this was the one hundredth time he had said this after hearing the news earlier that day, Tauriel was no longer full of wonder but had fallen asleep.

 

“Wake up!” he said, nudging her.

 

“Yes, unbelievable,” she muttered.

 

“I wonder what kind of picture they’ll want to do?” he pondered.  He knew it wasn’t so much a portrait as a scene from his life to go with a string of large paintings that decorated the main room of the Moot Hall down by the harbour.  He had never studied them properly – they were just background decoration to him – but Tauriel said that they all portrayed famous scenes from elven history.

 

“So, I’m going to be famous,” he had said smugly on receiving the letter from Ellandel. 

 

“You’re already famous,” said Tauriel, kissing him on the nose.

 

“Yes, but this will make me famous, like, for all time,” he had said in awe at the thought of his coming renown.

 

Ellandel had asked to meet him down at the Moot Hall the next day so that he could explain the project further.  Now Thorin was running through the scenes of his life and wondering if he would have a say in the matter.

 

“What moment would you choose?” he asked Tauriel, nudging her again.

 

“What?” she mumbled.

 

“Well, do you reckon the painting should show me confronting Smaug at the Gates of Erebor when the dragon first came?  Or how about me getting the name of Oakenshield at the Battle of Azanulbizar?  Or do you think me coming to the rescue of Elves and Men at the Battle of the Five Armies would be best?  My golden armour would look very good in that.”

 

“Whatever,” yawned Tauriel.  “You’d look very fine and noble in any of them.”

 

And so Thorin lay half-awake for the rest of the night, dreaming of a glorious, heroic painting, with all the elves of the Undying Lands gathered to see its unveiling and murmuring in astonishment as his valour was revealed to them.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, he hurried down the hill to meet his old tutor, Ellandel.  He had tried to help Thorin behave more like an elf but, when Tauriel had laughed at him, he had reverted to his dwarven ways.  Ellandel had been rather disappointed at that since Thorin had been a star pupil but he had accepted that this was not what Tauriel had wanted from her husband and he still had a fondness for the dwarf.

 

Ellandel was not only a tutor, he was also an administrator for a large area around the harbour.  He was waiting for Thorin in the Moot Hall, a place of meetings, weddings and various other ceremonies, and he took him to the grand central room to examine the paintings there.  These were large and imposing and covered nearly three walls.  Each represented a significant moment in the long history of the elves. 

 

“Yours will go there,” Ellendel said, pointing to a space at the end of the third wall.  “And, here,” he continued, pointing to the empty fourth wall, “we shall hang a whole series of pictures depicting the War of the Ring.”

 

“This is a great honour,” said Thorin graciously but he was finding it very hard to contain an almost childish delight.  The burning question was: what part of his life would the painting portray?  “So,” he asked politely, “will this scene include Smaug?”

 

“Erm, no,” said Ellandel.

 

“Or Azanulbizar?”

 

“No, not that either.  You have to remember that these paintings are all about elven, not dwarven, history and so we have chosen a moment in your life when both cultures come together.  In fact, the other person in the painting will be Thranduil.”

 

“Thranduil!” choked Thorin.  “Well, if you want to show the moment in Mirkwood when he clapped me in his dungeons, then I refuse to participate.”  Why was it that this elven king always managed to spoil every pleasure?

 

“No, no!” cried Ellandel.  “We would never insult you like that.  We were thinking of a scene from the Battle of the Five Armies.”

 

Thorin relaxed: that sounded more like it.  “My best moment,” he said modestly, “was when Bard and his men with Thranduil and his elven army were losing badly against the orcs.  Then I charged out from Erebor with my company, drove a wedge through the enemy and called all the allies to my side.” His eyes glowed, imagining this moment dramatised on the wall.

 

“Erm, no, not that moment,” said Ellendel a bit uncomfortably.

 

“Well, what moment, then, for goodness’ sake?” asked Thorin in exasperation.

 

“Umm, the bit where you’re lying injured and Thranduil saves your life.”

 

Thorin spluttered, thought about reneging on the whole deal and then swallowed his pride.  Thranduil _had_ saved his life – he owed him all the wonderful things that had happened to him since that moment – and being portrayed as lying heroically injured was not too bad a thing.

 

“I can accept that,” he said.

 

“Good,” said Ellandel. “We’ll meet up with Thranduil and the artist in two days’ time.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Two days later, Thorin arrived at the Moot Hall on foot just as Thranduil reached the harbour on horseback.

 

“What!” laughed Thorin.  “No big entrance?  I thought you’d be arriving at least on the back of a giant eagle.”

 

Thranduil gazed nonchalantly over his own shoulder and then up and down the road and then at the dwarf: “Well,” he said, “I don’t see anyone important enough to make a grand entrance for.”  And he dismounted elegantly and swept past Thorin into the Hall.

 

Thorin, as usual, was left with his mouth open.  How does he do it, he thought?  And he hurried after him.

 

Ellandel and the artist, Arnor, were waiting inside.  Like most elves, Arnor was good-looking and fair-haired, but he had a soft voice and a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes.  Thorin grinned to himself.  It would be interesting to see how he managed Thranduil but he doubted that he had the necessary force of personality.

 

“Well,” said Ellandel, eager to be doing other things, “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Arnor.  I’m sure you’d like to hear what he has planned for the painting.”  And, with that, he was gone.

 

Arnor gestured them over to his easel where he had displayed a very sketchy sketch of his ideas for the canvas.  In the foreground, a wounded ‘Thorin’ lay upon the ground in the shade of a tree, stripped of most of his armour, pieces of which were strewn about him.   His hand was raised pleadingly to a tall ‘Thranduil’ who stretched forth a compassionate hand in return.

 

Hah, thought Thorin to himself.  If Tauriel hadn’t twisted his arm, he would have left me to die.

 

The two were positioned on a hill and, in the background, the battle still raged.  It was a dramatic and lively scene and Thorin could already imagine the finished product.  Even with Thranduil’s presence, it would be worth looking at.

 

A space had been cleared at one end of the Hall and a stage was set up there, ready for action.  A green cloth covered the floor and a large tree in a pot had been plonked down at one side whilst various suits of armour and items of clothing were lying on a table.

 

“Now, Thorin,” said Arnor, “I like to be accurate, so perhaps you can tell me exactly where you were wounded during the battle.”

 

“I was struck by a spear,” offered Thorin, more than happy to give the artist as much information as possible, “and it penetrated my side between the plates of my armour just below my ribcage.”  And he helpfully pulled up his shirt and showed his old scar to the fascinated Arnor.  Even after all these years, it was still ugly and jagged and Arnor gave a delicate shudder.

 

“Just too, too ghastly,” he said.

 

Thorin gave him an amused look.  Surely through his long life, Arnor must have been in battle and received the odd scar, he asked.

 

“Oh, no, no,” he replied.  “I have always been an artist – I’ve never fought.”

 

Thorin was curious as to how he assumed he could depict a battle scene if he had never been in one but he discovered that the artist had often taken his gear to the fringes of a battle and had recorded what went on there for posterity.  “I’m quite famous for my historic scenes,” he said proudly.  And Thorin concluded that perhaps they were in good hands after all.

 

“Posing for an artist is not an easy job,” he told the two of them.  “It is very tiring when you have to hold the same position for a long time.  But, I would ask you to do your best and for as long as possible.”

 

Thranduil was examining the suit of armour on the table.  “You’re not expecting me to wear _this_?” he asked with a sneer.

 

“Well – um – yes,” Arnor said, “but it’s only to supply me with a rough outline.  If you can give me a detailed description of your armour, I shall do my best to portray it.”

 

“It was the greatest of elven smiths who forged it,” said Thranduil with a snotty lift to his chin.  “I looked magnificent in it and I will expect to look magnificent in this painting.”

 

“My gold armour was pretty good too,” put in Thorin mildly.

 

“Gold!” exclaimed Arnor in amazement.  “How wonderful!  But wouldn’t that be too soft to be effective?”

 

“Actually, it was mithril overlaid with gold” Thorin supplied.  “Nothing could penetrate it.  But, unfortunately, that lucky spear thrust worked its way between two plates.”

 

“Right, strip off then,” said Arnor, already thinking excitedly about how he was going to paint two magnificent suits of armour.  “I assume they did strip you to the waist so that they could get at your wound?  Right, keep your breeches on and we’ll strap these greaves to the front of your legs and scatter your helmet, breastplate and other bits and pieces around you on the ground.  I shall be trying to capture the chaos of battle.”

 

Thorin removed his shirt.  Arnor gawped and then clapped his hands delightedly.  “Ooo, tattoos!  I just so _love_ tattoos!  They’ll be a striking feature of the painting.  All eyes will be drawn to you.”

 

This rather annoyed Thranduil who thought that all eyes would be drawn to him.  “So barbaric, don’t you think?  They will pinpoint the contrast between dwarf and elf.”

 

“Oh,” said Arnor innocently, unused as he was to mixing with dwarves, “you mean, like, the refined and the savage, the sophisticate and the boor, beauty and the beast?”

 

“You’ve got it,” smiled Thranduil, pleased to have someone who understood the situation.

 

Thorin just glowered.  His glare was so intense that Arnor wondered if he could somehow work it into his painting.  What fearsome brutality, he thought!  And he shivered with delight.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Arnor directed Thorin to lie down under the tree.  “Lean on your right arm – that’s right – and stretch out your left towards Thranduil.”  Then he got down on his knees and arranged the dwarf’s hair so that it fell forward in a dishevelled mass, one braid swinging free in an interesting way, but in such a manner that his tattooed shoulders were still exposed.

 

This close, he noticed that Thorin smelled of soap and leather with just the faintest trace of sweat that was not unattractive.  This surprised Arnor.  Somehow he had expected him to smell of the stable – something more animal-like.  And the hair was wonderful to work with: thick and heavy, its tendrils curling beautifully to frame his face – so dark, so unusual and so very clean.

 

His eyes skimmed Thorin’s torso as he arranged his powerful arms.  What a chest!  Twice the width of his own, he reckoned   And the tattooed bracelets above the elbow were really quite delicious, emphasising, as they did, the dwarf’s biceps.  Arnor felt quite flustered and he flushed a little as his artist’s soul almost persuaded him to stretch out a finger and trace the line of Thorin’s musculature – for research purposes, of course!

 

“Are those more tattoos I can see, just poking above your waistband?” he asked with interest.

 

“Er, yes,” said Thorin, “but they dip pretty low.”

 

“Hmm, just a little exposure, I think,” was the murmured response, and the elf edged down Thorin’s breeches so that they hung just below his navel.  “Yes, that looks good.  A classic pose.”

 

Thorin was unsure but decided that the artist must know best and so said nothing.

 

Arnor stood up and studied the effect for a long moment.  Then he clasped his hands together.  “You look beautiful,” he said, with a note of surprise in his voice.  “Gorgeously heroic, I would say.  And in fact, if you are the beauty, then one must wonder who is the beast.”  And he gave a little giggle at his own joke.

 

“Oh, Thranduil every time,” grinned Thorin and he was pleased to see that the remark had got under the elf lord’s skin.  This might be fun.

 

His raised arm was already aching and so he was relieved when Arnor produce a crutch-like contraption which he adjusted to fit under his arm and offer some support.  “There, that should help,” said the elf. “You wouldn’t be able to adopt that posture for long without some assistance.”

 

Then he turned to his other model.  It was Thranduil who was glowering by now.  He had to admit that Thorin looked very good.  The dwarf would be positioned in the centre of the painting and the elven king would be less prominent, off to one side. Moreover, he would be encased in armour which, however glorious, could not compete with the eye-boggling nature of Thorin’s semi-naked body.

 

“There,” said Arnor, pinning a lovely cloak to Thranduil’s shoulders, “that will help you look more striking and this great swathe of white silk will help to draw attention away from the delights of naked flesh and more towards you.

 

This pacified Thranduil a little but he doubted if _anything_ would drag the gaze of the onlookers away from that muscled chest.  Even he had a problem.

 

“And now,” continued Arnor, starting to arrange Thranduil, “if you could just stoop down towards Thorin, with one leg bent, offering your hand in a gracious gesture.  People will need to know that you have come to his aid and that your ministrations will save his life.”

 

“I don’t bow to anyone,” said the elven king stiffly, “and especially not to Thorin.”  And, although Arnor argued with him for some time, he would not be persuaded.  And, in the end, there was nothing for it but to allow him to stand upright with a hand extended in a rather mean-spirited sort of way.

 

“Well,” sighed Arnor, “I suppose you can compensate with the compassionate expression on your face.  Now, can you give me ‘compassionate’?”

 

“This _is_ ‘compassionate’!” snapped Thranduil.

 

Arnor blinked.  “Erm, just a little too aloof, I feel.”

 

Thranduil’s expression didn’t change and Thorin snorted with laughter.  “I’m afraid that ‘arrogant’ is the only look he can do,” he grinned.  And Thranduil stared daggers at him.

 

“Well, perhaps I can – er – adjust your look when I come to paint your face,” Arnor muttered and he moved to his easel.  This was proving more difficult than he had imagined.

 

.o00o.

 

 He drew and painted all day and, as he had warned them, it was very hard work, not least because of the boredom.  They had plenty of breaks, but, even so, the time seemed to drag.  Towards late afternoon, he finally allowed them to see his progress.  The whole scene had been sketched in with all the details, even the battle in the background, and he had started to paint Thorin.

 

Thorin was very impressed.  It was all so vivid, even largely unfinished as it was, that he was taken back in time to that dreadful day when the bodies of the dead had been piled high all around and he had lost his nephews.  His own image, of course, was inaccurate in so far as he had been semi-conscious after Beorn had carried him from the battlefield: it had been Tauriel who had reached out to Thranduil for help.  But, he supposed this was artistic licence and it was, indeed, very artistic.  In all modesty, he had to admit that he looked a tragically noble figure, lying there in the centre of the canvas, and now that Arnor had started to indicate blood, bruises and wounds, he seemed the very model of the hero willing to sacrifice himself in a great cause.  Thranduil, on the other hand, even in sketch form, looked stiff and completely removed from all the tragic incidents that were playing out around him.  He really hoped that something could be done about it otherwise the whole painting might be spoiled.

 

Arnor was having similar thoughts.  Thorin had been a delight to work with, willing to stay in position for much longer than the elf and very amenable to any suggestions.  Thranduil had been difficult from the word go and he would be relieved when he no longer needed him to model but could get on with the painting on his own.

 

Thranduil, on the other hand, thought his image looked splendid – very kinglike and majestic.  He would send Arnor his armour so that the artist had the real thing to work from – it was very important that he got it right.

 

“Back to work, then,” said Arnor, “just for another hour, and then I’ll let you go.”

 

They had nearly got to the end of the session when Tauriel stuck her head around the door.

 

“Hello,” she said, “I’m Thorin’s wife.  I’ve been itching to see how things were going and I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

“Come in,” smiled Arnor at the beautiful elf.  “It will be interesting to have an outsider’s point of view on the work so far.”

 

Tauriel giggled when she saw her husband’s pose on the green sheet but went over to examine the canvas.  “My goodness!” she exclaimed, “that really is marvellous!”  And Arnor beamed in delight.

 

She thought how well the artist had captured Thorin’s likeness and, although she had giggled at him when she had first entered the room, she could now see how well his stripped body suited the theme of the painting.  He looked so vulnerable and yet so brave – and so totally kissable!  But Thranduil wasn’t quite right – his posture wasn’t suitable for the moment, perhaps – she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it.  And this wasn’t how it had happened.

 

“This will be wonderful when it’s finished,” she said, “even though it didn’t quite happen this way.”

 

“It didn’t?” Arnor exclaimed.  He liked to get things right and her remark concerned him.

 

“Why, no.  Didn’t they tell you?  I was there and it was me who stripped off his armour.  When I realised that he had been very badly injured and was likely to die, I begged Thranduil to save him.”  She gave a wry grin.  “He was very reluctant at first because there was bad blood between them, but I reminded him of all that had passed between us – and I also bribed him with the thought of the dragon’s hoard.  It was only then that he gave in.”

 

Thranduil harrumphed at her less than flattering retelling of the story but Arnor gazed at his painting for a moment and then shouted: “That’s it!  That would work!  It would resolve the problems I am having with Thranduil’s expression and posture.”

 

He wanted Tauriel to be part of the picture now and he began to rearrange the group.  Thorin was to stay as he was but he asked Tauriel to kneel near his head.  Then he turned Thranduil away from the two of them and directed Tauriel to reach out and seize hold of his cloak as if she were pleading with him.  “Can you all just stay on for another hour so that I can redraw a section?” he asked.

 

An hour later, they clustered around the canvas and found themselves all nodding in approval.  Thorin was pleased that Tauriel was now included, as was fitting and accurate; Tauriel was thrilled to be portrayed in such a historic scene; and Thranduil thought he looked suitably like himself – aloof and haughty – it never occurred to him that it also portrayed him as being rather unpleasant.

 

Arnor was mentally rubbing his hands in glee.  Thank goodness that Tauriel had turned up at that moment and had saved his painting.  In the new scene, Thranduil had his arrogant expression on – the one he did so well – and the lovely Tauriel was pleading with him to save her beloved.  So moving!  He could already see that this would turn out to be one of his best works.

 

He worked for another day with the three of them posing and then he took it away for two weeks to attend to the details - the depiction of the battle alone was a very complex scene to paint.  And then it was hung – temporarily – in the centre of the empty wall and the work was ready for its unveiling.

 

.o00o.

 

Not much exciting happened to the inhabitants of the Undying Lands and so the unveiling was an event that no-one in the area wanted to miss.  Even Elrond turned up with some of his court.  The Moot Hall was packed and a delicious buffet had been laid out for all the guests.  Tauriel, Thranduil and Thorin were the centre of attention and everyone was trying to guess what the painting was about.  The whole thing had been kept a closely guarded secret.  All that anyone knew was the title of the piece: She Pleads For His Life.  And many were laying bets on what the incident would be about, some even wondering if Thranduil had intended to execute Thorin when he had thrown him into his dungeons until Tauriel, his captain of the guard, had begged for mercy.

 

At last, the moment arrived.  Arnor and the three subjects of his painting, stood on a podium below the framed canvas and Elrond was invited to unveil it.  The elf lord pulled a cord, the sheet fell away and everyone gasped in amazement.  What an exciting and moving scene!  As a terrible battle raged in the background, Tauriel was reaching out with one hand to grasp Thranduil’s cloak whilst gesturing to her badly wounded lover with the other.  Everyone knew that Thorin had been the hero of the hour.  He had turned the tide of battle but had nearly lost his life in the attempt.  Only the help of the king of Mirkwood had saved him.

 

But, this they hadn’t known: an arrogant Thranduil was turning away from him, refusing to help, and it was only the pleading of the beautiful Tauriel that would finally make him change his mind.  And, stretched out in the centre of the painting was the hero: his golden armour had been stripped from his body and he was lying bloody, bruised and nearly naked.  They could see quite clearly the dwarven tattoos on his arms and body but no-one curled their lip; instead, these markings seemed to underline his warrior status.  What a man, thought the elf lords!  Yeah, what a man, thought the ladies!

 

There was silence for a moment as everyone tried to take it all in.  And then there was loud applause and cheering.  Arnor looked very pleased with the response, Tauriel and Thorin looked rather self-conscious and Thranduil bowed graciously at what he perceived was the acclaim of a crowd of admirers.

 

When they mingled with the assembled throng afterwards, with glasses of wine in their hands, the three subjects of the painting were congratulated enthusiastically.  How beautiful Tauriel looked; how handsome and brave was Thorin (and delectable, murmured the ladies to themselves).  Thranduil was the more difficult one to say something nice about and they searched around for a word that sounded kinder than ‘arrogant’.

 

“How marvellous you look in that suit of armour!” said one.

 

And Thranduil smirked and said: “I know.”

 

“And what a lovely silken cloak – it does call attention to you.”

 

“Arnor said it would,” was the smug reply.

 

“And you look so – so – above it all.”

 

Thranduil wasn’t quite sure what to say about that one.

 

But, after it was all over, all three of them went home happy.

 

Well, mostly happy.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“So, what did you think of my story?” asked Tauriel as she closed the laptop.  “Did you enjoy being famous?”_

_“Well, the one thing that spoiled it,” muttered Thorin, “was that remark of yours.”_

_“What remark?” asked Tauriel._

_“That remark you made to Thranduil about helping me because of everything that had passed between the two of you.”  And he sounded upset._

_Tauriel pulled him to her and, seizing him by the plaits, made him look into her eyes.  “And what_ ARE _you thinking I meant by that?” she asked._

_“Umm…” he said, after a moment._

_“I know what you’re thinking,” she said in exasperation, “and you’d be wrong!”_

_He looked relieved but couldn’t let it go.  “Well, what_ DID _you mean?” he mumbled._

_“Only that we had been friends for a very long time,” she sighed, “and that friends should try to help each other……And he did.  And, now, you stupid dwarf,” she added, giving his plaits a very hard tug so that he yelped, “now give me a kiss or I shall find it difficult to forgive your silliness.”_

_And he gave her a whole string of kisses and, although she held out for a good long time, which obliged him to kiss her some more, in the end, she forgave him.)_

.o00o.

 

 

**Next story: Thorin and the Mancation, in which Thranduil sets off on a journey to find himself and Thorin decides to go with him.  And the Big Question is: Will they have fun together?**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	50. Thorin and the Mancation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil wants to set off into the wilderness to find himself – and all the guys decide to go with him. After six days, will it be a love-in or will they all be at each other’s throats, LOL?

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Mancation

 

Pt I

 

“I feel really sorry for Thranduil,” said Tauriel as she lay in bed with Thorin.

 

“Huh!” snorted Thorin.  “I don’t.  What on earth made you say that?”

 

“Well, he’s a very sad and lonely person, don’t you think?”

 

“And whose fault is that?” snapped Thorin, unhappy that any of his wife’s more tender feelings should be directed towards the elven king.  “He should try being nice for a change.”

 

“But, he IS nice – sometimes,” Tauriel persisted, “and he still seems very alone.”

 

Thorin refused to accept the ‘nice’ label and glowered into the darkness of the room.  “So, tell me: when has he ever been ‘nice’?  I certainly can’t think of an example.”

 

“Well,” said the elf, rolling towards him and slipping an arm about his waist, “I can think of lots of moments.  When Lostwithiel was young and lost his parents, Thranduil became a second father to him.  He still has a soft spot for ‘Thiel and I reckon he’s even rather fond of Rosie as the substitute grandchild he’ll never have – especially if you think how things are going between Legolas and Gimli.”

 

Thorin was startled.  “Rosie?!” he said.  “He can keep his soft spots to himself - she’s _my_ granddaughter, not his.”  And, as so often happened with Thranduil, he felt a little stirring of jealousy.

 

“And I know you don’t like to think about it,” continued Tauriel, giving him a hug and kissing him on the cheek, “but he saved your life at the Battle of the Five Armies for my sake and he has always been very kind to _me_.”

 

Thorin harrumphed.

 

“Well, he has.  He made me his captain of the guard when I had strong competition because he had faith in me.  When his wife died, he wanted to marry me and I think he truly loved me.”  Thorin muttered under his breath.  “But he never pushed himself on me nor tried to twist my arm.”

 

“No,” snapped Thorin, “he saved those methods for later.”

 

Tauriel wound a braid gently around one finger and nuzzled her husband’s neck.  “Yes, that was very naughty of him,” she conceded, remembering how he had abducted her.

 

“Naughty!” spluttered the dwarf.  “If ever there was the wrong word to describe his behaviour!”

 

Tauriel pressed on.  “And he hardly made a fuss when I wanted to marry you, even though he was really upset.  Instead, he released me from my captaincy.  And, when he met up with the both of us that night in the Grey Havens and the other elf lords were giving me a hard time, he sprang to my defence.  And he was so very kind to me when you left me and I wanted to travel back with him to Mirkwood.”

 

“I bet he was,” scowled Thorin, squirming a bit with guilt at the memory.  “And I bet he was waving the flags too!  I suppose he asked you to marry him again.”

 

Tauriel stroked his chest soothingly.  “No, he never did.  He could see how much I still loved you and he handled me very gently.  And, when in Rivendell he saw that I was pregnant, he bowed courteously out of the situation.”

 

“Didn’t want to bring up another man’s child, I bet,” muttered Thorin.  “No wonder he ran for the hills.”

 

“Oh, my love,” murmured Tauriel gently.  “Aren’t you willing to give him even the smallest amount of credit for anything?”

 

“Not particularly,” was the response.  “He may have been nice to you, but he’s never been nice to me – because I’m a dwarf.  It’s easy to love one of your own but a lot harder to love someone from a different race.”

 

“You could be talking about yourself,” laughed Tauriel.  “He might never have tried hard to get to know you, but you’ve never tried hard to get to know _him_.  Neither of you have given each other a chance.”

 

There was a bit of a pause whilst Tauriel did interesting things with her long, cool fingers.

 

“So, what are you suggesting?” Thorin finally said.

 

“I think,” replied his wife, “that you two ought to get to know each other better…..get together….go on a hike……something like that……without any of us women to interfere.”

 

“Oh,” grinned Thorin, “but I do so love you to interfere.”

 

.o00o.

 

After a very pleasant hour of his wife’s interference, Thorin slipped quietly from the bed and went into the dining room to find the laptop.  Perhaps Tauriel was right and he should be trying harder with Thranduil.  He personally doubted that anything would ever change between them but he would give it his best shot.  And, after thinking about it for a bit, he began writing:

 

Thorin and the Mancation

 

“Well, are you coming or not?” Lostwithiel asked Thorin.  “It will look very odd if you’re not there and, if it means that Tauriel doesn’t come either, you are obviously preventing her from socialising with everyone.”

 

Poppy had organised an elegant luncheon in her fine home for her family, the two hobbits and for Thranduil who was visiting her husband whilst he was passing through the area.  Thorin sighed.  He knew that he really ought to go but he found Thranduil very irritating company; after spending time with the elven king, especially if he had been obliged to fend off the attentions he was usually paying to his wife, he was left feeling grumpy for at least a week.

 

When Thorin paused, Lostwithiel said a bit irritably: “Well, if you won’t come, then Tauriel will have to come on her own.”

 

And, when his wife nodded, that was the deciding factor: no way was he going to let Tauriel be alone with the elf lord.  “All right,” he said curtly, “but don’t expect me to enjoy myself.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Poppy and Lostwithiel had built themselves a very fine manor in the same style as their old home back on Middle-earth and the luncheon was elegantly laid out in their beautiful dining-room.  Back in the old days, especially before Rosie was born, Poppy had been a hostess of renown and the locals had vied with each other for a seat at her table.  She still hadn’t lost the knack, thought her husband, gazing around the room proudly.

 

Lostwithiel and Poppy sat at either end of the long table which was dressed with flowers in cut-glass bowls.  The polished silver shone and the napkins were snowy white.  At the far end of the table sat Poppy with Thorin and Tauriel on one side and Thranduil and Rosie on the other.  The elven king liked visiting Lostwithiel now and again because they had had a good relationship with one another when he was younger.  Perhaps they had drifted apart a little because of his mixed race wife – the daughter of Thorin, at that - but he always seemed very taken with Rosie and he could see him talking and laughing with her very pleasantly at the moment.

 

Yes, and Thorin could see him too!  The dwarf looked further down the table and saw that Beren didn’t seem to mind.  Was he the only one who got possessive when some smarmy elf was chatting up his wife?  And he wished that Rosie would be just that bit aloof and not flutter her eyelids so much.  “But, it’s always very flattering when someone pays attention to you.  And it’s fun to flirt a bit,” Tauriel had said.  “As long as you make it clear that you’re only flirting a little and you do it in a ‘safe’, public area, what’s the harm?”  So, Thorin had stopped talking to her about it.

 

Thranduil grinned to himself: he enjoyed irritating Thorin but he also liked chatting with Rosie.  She was a sweet child – a cut above her grandfather – and, since he seemed to have lost Legolas to Gimli and ‘Thiel to the Oakenshield family, it was nice to talk with someone who appeared to like him, someone whom he wasn’t always crossing swords with.

 

Arion looked politely across the table to Thranduil then.  “Do you intend to return home after you leave here?” he asked.  Ever since the elf lord had abducted his mother, he had found it almost as difficult as Thorin to be nice to him.  But he tried.

 

“No,” said Thranduil, “I intend to travel up into the hills to explore the territory.”

 

“What!  On your own?” squeaked Rosie in surprise.  “Isn’t that a bit dangerous?  Why don’t you go with someone?”

 

“Because no-one wants to go with _him_ ,” muttered Thorin under his breath.  And Tauriel kicked him on the ankle.

 

“Well, replied Thranduil with a righteous smile.  “Camping and trekking – you know – not much fun for most people.  A tad uncomfortable.”

 

“So,” asked Thorin in a loud voice, “if it’s so uncomfortable, why are you going?”

 

“Oh, you know, to find myself.  It’s a sort of spiritual thing.”  And he waved his hand airily.

 

“Spiritual?!” snorted Thorin.  “Well, I must admit I never ‘found myself’ on that long hike between Ered Luin and the Lonely Mountain.  All I found were trolls and orcs and blisters.”

 

Bilbo tried to change the tenor of the conversation.  “Have you done a lot of this sort of thing, then?” he asked.

 

“Never on my own,” came the response.  “But I have travelled with my army, of course….”

 

“Yes,” interrupted Thorin.  “But that wasn’t exactly roughing it.  You doubtless had a comfortable camp bed and a silken tent and retainers to serve your every need.”

 

Thranduil ignored him.

 

“Can you light a fire from scratch?” Beren asked worriedly.  “And can you erect a tent on your own?  And do you know how to catch fish or how to cook them once you’ve caught them?”

 

“Err…” said the elven king, beginning to look a bit flustered.  Then: “I shall learn as I go along.  It can’t be that difficult.”  And he gave an arrogant toss of his head.

 

“Well,” laughed Lostwithiel.  “I wouldn’t know about that, but, let me tell you, it took me a week to learn how to start a fire when I was training with Tauriel up at the outpost.”  And he grinned at the memory.

 

“Look, sir,” said Beren seriously.  “You really shouldn’t go on your own.  I wouldn’t mind coming with you for a bit of an adventure.”

 

“Me neither,” said Bilbo.  “It’s been years since I went on an adventure.”

 

“And I’ll come too,” put in Arion.  “If Mary Sue doesn’t object, that is.  I wouldn’t mind finding myself.”

 

“He can’t even find his underpants half the time,” giggled Mary Sue, “so perhaps this would be a good bit of training.”

 

“Count me in too,” said Lostwithiel.

 

“And, Frodo?” Thranduil asked.

 

“No,” smiled Frodo.  “Not this time.  I have a very important book to finish about the sex lives of elves and dwarves.  You know, the one you helped me with.  I’m dedicating it to you and Thorin.” 

 

“Ah, yes, Thorin.  And will you be coming with us?” Thranduil asked the dwarf, seeing him sitting there in silence.  It was only a tease and he fully expected him to say ‘no’.

 

But Thorin knew it was a tease and, just to annoy the elf lord, he replied: “Of course I’ll come too.  What would you do without my leadership?”

 

And Thranduil wondered if he had let himself in for a rough ride.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

The ladies busied themselves getting together various knapsacks for the intrepid adventurers and, early the next morning, they set out.  Not without a bit of a kerfuffle first, of course.  Thranduil went off to fetch his horse but Thorin stopped him as he led it out of the stables.

 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

 

Thranduil looked blank.  “Loading up my horse, of course.”  But, when he saw the dwarf’s amused look, he snapped: “Well, you’re not expecting me to carry all this gear, are you?”  And he gestured to a pile of foodstuffs and camping equipment.

 

“No, certainly not,” grinned Thorin.  “What you can’t carry on your back, you leave behind.”  And, before the elf could stop him, he had sorted through his stuff and had cast aside all sorts of things, like some feather pillows and a comfortable camp bed and a barbecue and some delicious delicacies.  In the end, he had narrowed it down to one heavy knapsack and a bedroll, just like all the rest.

 

“There,” he said cheerfully.  “I think you can manage that.”  And he sauntered away and called everyone else to order.

 

Thranduil was left spluttering but all the hikers were already setting out up the path.  “Coming or not?” asked Thorin and the elf was forced to run in a rather undignified manner in order to catch up with them.

 

For the first few hours, everyone marched cheerfully along.  Thorin, who was the only one who actually knew where they were going, sang a couple of dwarven walking songs to encourage them on their way and then Bilbo sang a few of his own: “The road goes ever on and on…”

 

It certainly does, thought Thranduil, already beginning to feel a bit hot and sweaty.  The trouble was, everyone was at a significant advantage to him.  Arion, Lostwithiel and Beren had helped man the outpost of Ered Luin and they had been well trained to go on long and arduous slogs.  Thorin and Bilbo had walked practically all the way from Hobbiton to Erebor, a journey of nearly a year, and the hobbit had then walked all the way back again.  This trek was a stroll in the park in comparison.  And dwarves were famous for their stamina over long and weary miles.

 

In contrast, Thranduil, although pretty athletic and lithe, just didn’t have the right sort of muscle development for this kind of thing.  He soon had his head down, concentrating his energy on putting one foot in front of the other as they trudged up a steeply climbing hillside.  He would NOT let Thorin know that he was making heavy weather of things already and thus become an object of scorn.

 

But, Thorin did notice.  He saw the grim expression on the elf’s face and the way he no longer had the breath to join in the casual conversation.  So, when they reached the top of the hill, he said: “Well, that was a hard climb!”  And the others turned and looked at him in surprise.  “I think we all deserve a bit of a rest.  Let’s sit here and admire the view and have a nice cold drink.”

 

Lostwithiel started saying that he was good for a few more miles, but Bilbo nudged him in the ribs.  And then the penny dropped and they all sat down and admired the view for at least half an hour.  It was easier after that because the route took them downhill.  The rest had restored Thranduil but he was also glad to know that Thorin had apparently been feeling it too.  “Hah!  Not so tough!” he muttered to himself.

 

“That was nice of you,” murmured Arion to his father as they walked along together.  “Why are you being so thoughtful about his welfare?”

 

Thorin shrugged and gave a wry smile.  “Not sure, really.  But, he was trying hard and not complaining.  I thought I’d give him a break and save his pride.”

 

“Too generous,” laughed his son.  “He’s got enough pride to sink a Corsair galleon.”  And Thorin had a bit of a chuckle.  

 

They stopped for a snack a few hours later and then, by mid-afternoon, they reached a tumbling river that raced through the bottom of a wide gorge.  There were grassy areas on its banks and Thorin decided that it was a good place to set up camp.  He sent them off to collect wood for the fire and then Lostwithiel gave Thranduil lessons on how to light it.  When he succeeded at the third time of trying, they all gave him a cheer and the elven king looked quietly pleased with himself.  Then, whilst Bilbo was left to tend the fire and put a can of water on to boil, Thorin took the rest of them down to wade in the shallows of the river.

 

“Right!  This is how you catch fish,” he said.  “Beorn taught me how to do this.  He was in human form at the time, but it’s something that bears are especially good at.  And he showed them all how to stand quietly in the water and then, with lightning speed, scoop out a passing fish and fling it upon the nearby bank.  Knowing how good an elf’s reflexes were, he expected Thranduil to excel at this – and he was right.

 

Soon, a very satisfying pile of fish was building up on the river bank and Thranduil had caught more than anyone else.  Mind you, Thorin had given Arion, ‘Thiel and Beren a very communicative look and they hadn’t tried too hard.  “I win!” crowed Thranduil gleefully.

 

“Why, so you do,” laughed Thorin, clapping him on the back.  “But, did you know that the winner gets to gut them all and cook them?”  No, Thranduil hadn’t known that but they carried the fish back to Bilbo who showed the elf the gutting technique and then left him to it whilst the others relaxed with a nice hot cup of tea that had been brewing over the camp fire.

 

In the end, the gutting was finished.  Thranduil looked a mess, covered in slimy innards and fish scales and so they sent him down to the river to have a good wash.  But, they had all appreciated his efforts and, since they felt a bit sorry for him, they strung the fish over the fire for him and they were already cooking by the time he came back.

 

It was a simple but delicious meal and, as it grew dark and the stars came out, they sat around the fire singing sad elven and dwarven songs and talking quietly among themselves.

 

“You did well today, Thranduil,” said Thorin as they spread out their bed rolls.  It might have sounded patronising but somehow it didn’t and the two kings exchanged friendly smiles before lying down and going to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin knew the area and had plans for the next day.  They trudged for five miles along the river bank until they came to a large number of willow trees, their weeping branches bending low to the ground.

 

“Look,” he grinned.  And sweeping back the graceful fall of leaves, he revealed at least a dozen upturned canoes sheltering beneath.

 

“Whose are they?” asked Beren. 

 

“Anyone’s,” came the reply.  “Ellandel, the administrator down at the harbour, told me about them.  I’m taking you on a training route they use for young elves.  Any hiker can borrow the canoes to travel downstream and, every so often, the elves use carts to bring them back to this point again.”

 

Everyone was really pleased at the thought of sitting down.  “But, it’s not the easy option,” warned Thorin.  “It’s really hard on the arms because there are rapids a bit further down. Everyone’s got to be prepared to work together.  Now pair up.”

 

Lostwithiel paired with Arion and Beren with Bilbo.  Rats! thought Thorin.  That just leaves me and Thranduil.

 

“Right!  Come on!” he ordered.  And they dragged three canoes down to the water.

 

“Just in case we get separated,” he said, “then we’re travelling about 5 miles.  First, the gorge closes in on us and we have to ride the rapids.  And then, when it gets calmer and opens up a bit more, there are no trees for some distance.  After that, you’ll see a large old oak on the left-hand side and that’s where we shall come ashore.”

 

Then he turned to Thranduil and wanted to know if he had ever paddled a canoe before.

 

“Er, no,” came the reply and Thorin did his best not to roll his eyes.  He gave him a quick lesson on the basics and he stuck him in the prow where he could see what he was doing.  Then, he climbed in behind him and they all pushed off into the fast-flowing stream.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“For goodness’ sake!” yelled Thorin.  “Dig that paddle deeper into the water!”

 

Thranduil gave him a filthy look over his shoulder.  This was the sort of set-up where normally his retainers worked hard whilst he sat back and did nothing.  Thorin should think himself lucky that he was at least having a go.

 

“Put your back into it!” Thorin yelled again.  “The rapids are just ahead!”

 

Thranduil muttered sullenly under his breath but, suddenly, the white water was foaming all about them, they were being swept along at speed and rocks loomed in front of them.

 

“Steer!  Steer!” the dwarf yelled, frantically trying to manoeuvre the canoe around various obstacles.  The elf lord froze in his seat as danger after danger reared up and then was avoided because of Thorin’s skilful control.  He was a dead weight in the canoe and the dwarf was struggling.

 

Then Thorin dug him sharply in the back with his paddle and the elf snapped out of it.  Together, they battled with the terrifying ride, muscles burning and the sweat rolling down their faces.  The relief when they finally floated into calmer waters was overwhelming.  They slumped, exhausted, over their paddles and let the current take them downstream for a mile.  Finally, Thranduil looked up: “I wasn’t much use, was I?” he said with a chagrined glance.  “Thank you for getting us through that in one piece.”

 

“You did well in the end,” Thorin muttered.  “You just need more practice.”

 

Soon, they could see the oak tree.  The others had already reached the spot and were dragging their canoes out of the water.  Their faces were flushed and excited and they waved and whooped as Thorin and Thranduil came into view.

 

“What a thrill!” exclaimed Beren as they helped the two disembark.

 

“How did our novice manage?” asked Arion, nodding towards the elf.

 

“Oh,” said Thorin, keeping a straight face, “he did a great job.  I was surprised at how well he coped.”  And Thranduil flung him a grateful look.

 

They set up camp in the shade of the oak tree and this time there was a silent competition to see who could land the _fewest_ fish because no-one wanted to do the gutting.

 

“All right,” said Thorin when nothing had been caught after half an hour, “the person who catches the fewest will do the gutting tonight.”  And suddenly, they all picked up speed.  But, when they had a large enough haul, Thorin laughed and said they should all muck in together and soon they were drinking their cup of tea whilst the fish cooked over the fire.

 

“I’ve got a bit of excitement planned for tomorrow and then we shall set out for home,” he told them.

 

“I think I’ve had enough excitement for the moment, thank you very much,” murmured Thranduil to himself, but they all wondered what Thorin could possibly mean.

 

.o00o.

 

The next day, they upturned the canoes and left them beneath the oak, ready for collection.  And then they climbed steadily out of the gorge.  A mile’s walk downstream, they suddenly found a graceful bridge that spanned the gorge whilst the river rushed far below them.  They ran gleefully from one side to the other.  “Yes, very exciting,” laughed Bilbo.  “Is that it?”

 

“Not quite,” said Thorin.

 

There was an unexpected trap door at the end of the bridge and, when they opened it, they found a large box suspended below and, in the box, was a thick, coiled elven rope with a large fastener at one end and some strange bracing at the other.

 

Thorin hauled out the rope, heavy even by elven standards, and dragged it to the centre of the bridge; and then, holding the metal fastener, he leaned through the bars at the side and attached it to a large hook that they hadn’t noticed there.

 

“What’s that for?” asked Bilbo curiously.

 

“Well,” said Thorin, “a volunteer stands on the bridge, we attach this strapping to their ankles, and then they jump off – head first.”

 

They all gasped in horror.  “Don’t worry,” laughed Thorin.  “I’ve seen it done.  I’ll go first, if you like.”

 

No-one fought for the privilege and Arion was sent down to stand on the river bank so that he could help release Thorin after the jump.

 

Thorin stood on the wide parapet, the rope attached to his ankles – and then he did a beautiful swallow-dive down towards the river.  They all shouted in fear as his head dipped into the water.  But then he bounced as the rope contracted and finished up at least a foot above the surface.  Arion ran into the water and, supporting his father’s weight, undid the strap and set him on his feet. 

 

Thorin laboured up the side of the gorge, by which time, they had hauled the rope back to the top again.  “Right,” he said, “whoever goes next can stay down there and take Arion’s place.  Can I have a volunteer, please?”

 

Beren stepped forward gleefully.  “I’ll go,” he laughed.  “That looked like fun.”

 

“Ah, the recklessness of youth,” grinned Thorin.

 

But Beren showed no fear or hesitation but leapt off with a great whoop.  He wasn’t as heavy as Thorin and his head didn’t even graze the water.  Then, whilst Arion was climbing back up for his turn, Bilbo stepped forward with a giggle.  He shut his eyes and Thorin counted to three and he toppled rather than jumped off, shrieking excitedly as he fell.  He finished up so short of the water that Beren had to stretch to reach him.  Arion took off in a splendidly athletic way, and Lostwithiel followed him in equal style…….And then there was only Thranduil.

 

Reluctantly, the elven king allowed Thorin to attach the rope.  And then he stood silently on the parapet for a long time.  “Jump!  Jump!  Jump!” chanted the four from below.

 

“I can’t,” whispered Thranduil, his face stiff with fear.  Thorin tried talking him through it; he tried counting and then yelling ‘Jump!’; he tried warning him about the loss of face.  But nothing worked.

 

“All right,” said Thorin with a sigh and Thranduil relaxed, assuming that he had been let off the hook.  But, the dwarf suddenly lunged forward and pushed him from the ledge and the elf yelled all the way down.  But, when those below released him, he was flushed with excitement.  “I want to do it again,” he blurted out.  And so he did.  And then everybody else had a second go, too, after which they packed the cord away and set out to walk the first leg home.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The journey back took longer than the one out, partly because they didn’t use canoes and partly because it became more of a leisurely stroll.  Everyone was enjoying themselves and they didn’t want the adventure to end.  Every night, they talked around the camp-fire, speaking about their lives and those who were dearest to them.  On the last night, just about everyone was tucked up asleep in their bedrolls, except for Thorin and Thranduil.

 

“I’m sorry this is nearly over,” said the elven king quietly.  “I’ve got so much out of it.”

 

“Ah,” said Thorin with a quirky lift of his eyebrow, “but have you found yourself?”

 

Thranduil gave a wry smile.  “I’ve found more than myself,” he said.  “Not only have I learned a lot – and I thought there was nothing left I didn’t know – but I’ve discovered a group of people that I feel I can call friends.”  Then he looked sadly down at the grass.  “And there haven’t been many in my life I could say that about.”

 

Thorin patted him clumsily on the shoulder.  “We should get some sleep now,” he said, “if we want to get back tomorrow in time for supper.  The last leg is a long one.”

 

They set off early the next day and tramped steadily and cheerfully towards their homes.  At last they reached the top of the first hill that Thranduil had climbed so laboriously and they stopped once more to admire the view down to the sea.  The elf made a touching little speech about camaraderie and friendship and thanked them all for keeping him company.  He gave especial thanks to Thorin for leading them so brilliantly and the others murmured in agreement.

 

And then they descended purposefully to the houses below.

 

.o00o.

 

The ladies came out to cheer and applaud the tired and dirty group and they all finished up at Thorin’s hall where Tauriel had a wonderful supper set out for them.  Bowls of warm water with fragrant soap and soft white towels were also lined up on the kitchen table and they washed themselves and put on fresh clothing.  “That’s better,” they all sighed, sitting down to feast themselves on the delicious spread.

 

“So, did you have a good time, Thranduil?” asked Tauriel.  “Are you glad you took everyone else with you?”

 

The elf lord gave a languid sigh.  “Say rather, my dear Tauriel, that they were glad that they had me with _them.”_

 

The rest of the party raised their eyebrows in surprise, and, noticing their expressions, Tauriel took her cue.

 

“Oh, and why is that?” she asked.  “Do tell us all.”

 

Thranduil leaned forward with a confidential air. “They would have starved, positively starved, my dear, if it hadn’t been for my fishing skills.  And it was me who lit the camp fire and gutted the fish and cooked them whilst they just sat there and drank cups of tea.  So helpless, don’t you know?”

 

Bilbo put a hand in front of his mouth and tried not to laugh.

 

“And then, of course, we had to shoot the rapids.  Thorin insisted that I sat in the prow where I could spot the dangers and avert them as they came racing towards us.  Elven reflexes are just so much quicker than a dwarf’s.”  And he looked at Thorin with a pitying sigh.  Thorin just shook his head.

 

“Tell them all about the jump from the bridge,” the dwarf urged with an amused twist to his lip.

 

“Yes, what a trial of courage,” he continued airily.  And he explained what they had all done to the awed and horrified listeners.  “I went last, of course,” he continued, “just to make sure that everyone coped with such a fearsome leap.  But, once I had completed my initial jump, I insisted that we do another – and I was the first that time.  Lead by example, I always say.”

 

“Well,” said Tauriel, “it sounds as though you all had an amazing time.”

 

“Yes – you could say it was – er - unbelievable,” said Thorin, “although I am sure that Thranduil is being far too modest about his achievements.”  And Bilbo couldn’t quite control his snort although he whipped out his pocket handkerchief and disguised it with a trumpeting blow of his nose.

 

After they had all eaten, they returned to their homes.  Thranduil was staying the night with Poppy and Lostwithiel before he set off the next morning and Thorin was glad when he could close the door quietly behind them all.

 

“Well,” said Tauriel, as her husband collapsed  into bed.  “Did you really have a good time?”

 

“Don’t ask,” muttered Thorin and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh dear,” said Tauriel sadly.  “What a disappointing outcome.  He was teetering practically on the edge of popularity and he threw it all away.”_

_“I did try,” sighed Thorin, “and I thought I was doing really well until that last bit – and then the laptop just took over and wrote a different ending from the one that I intended.”_

_“What did you intend?” his wife asked curiously._

_“Oh, you know, a touching, sentimental one where Thranduil apologised for all the mean things he had ever done to me and there was a lot of kissing and making up and promises of eternal friendship.”_

_Tauriel let out a shriek of laughter.  “No wonder the laptop couldn’t stomach that.  I think it understands our elven king much better than you do.  I’m afraid he’ll never change.  I shall just have to be content to remember all the nice things he has done for me in the past and to accept that you and he will never be best friends.”_

_“Well….I did think……just for a moment, you know….back there by the campfire……and it was nice.”_

_“Come on,” said Tauriel softly, “I shall be nice to you instead.”  And she gently led him by the hand back to their bedroom.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Sex Manual. Finally, Frodo has finished his book about the sex lives of elves and dwarves! The main (or only) contributors seem to be Thorin and Thranduil but everyone buys it and it certainly has an effect on the inhabitants of the Undying Lands!


	51. Thorin and the Sex Manual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to thank all those who are still turning up to read these stories. You’re real stars! And then I would like to thank my reviewers who have paused to take the time to tell me what they have enjoyed about my stories. And a big thank you to those who have given me kudos, too.
> 
>  
> 
> And now, onwards and upwards to my most difficult story to date which I have, actually, divided into two episodes. You must know by now that I write in innuendos: this is because these stories are also posted on another forum where the mods are rather severe. I always seem to be asking myself: can I get away with this? Well, it’s very tricky to write about sex manuals in innuendos, let me tell you! But I hope this makes you all smile…..because, at last, dear Frodo has finished writing The Sexual Habits and Mores of Elves and Dwarves. Hooray! Now we can all have a read!

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Sex Manual

 

Pt I

 

Thorin believed in nurturing: he had nurtured his nephews, his wife, his children and his extended family.  And now he had been patiently nurturing this particular piece of love-making for at least an hour, enjoying the leisurely pace but looking forward to its conclusion.

 

Tauriel gripped him by his plaits and pulled his lips fiercely down upon her own.

 

Nearly, nearly.

 

And then there was a vigorous knocking on the front door.

 

All the wind went out of his sails and, with a roar, Thorin rolled from the bed, grabbing his robe from the chair as he stomped out of the room.  He flung open the door and “What?!” he yelled at the visitor.

 

It was Frodo but he didn’t care who it was.  It was still quite early in the morning and he felt flushed with thwarted effort and indignation.

 

“Oh, dear,” said Frodo politely.  “Is it too early?  The sun’s been up for at least an hour.”

 

“It’s always too early if you’re trying to have a lie-in,” snarled the dwarf.

 

“Ahh,” grinned Frodo.  “When I started writing my book, I soon learned that ‘a lie-in’ was actually a euphemism for ‘you-know-what’.  But, not to worry, Thorin.  There’s always tomorrow.”

 

“I’m not interested in tomorrow,” said Thorin petulantly.

 

“I know,” commiserated Frodo.  “It’s the ‘I want it and I want it now’ syndrome.  But all I can say is ‘sorry’.”  And he gave his friend a contrite pat on the arm.

 

“Well?” said Thorin, still sullen.  “After ruining the start of my day, you’d better tell me what you want – and it had better be good.”

 

Tauriel peered over his shoulder.  “Oh, come on, my love.  At least invite the poor chap in for a cup of tea.”

 

Thorin grudgingly opened the door a bit wider and Frodo bustled off to the kitchen to make them tea and toast, just as a gesture for banging on the door at the wrong moment.  Dressed and slightly pacified, they sat down at the table and Thorin asked Frodo his question again.

 

“Well,” said Frodo, “I’ve written the draft of my book: _The Sexual Habits and Mores of Elves and Dwarves_ , and I’m ready to type it up and print it off.  So, I was wondering if I could use your laptop.  I shall present you with a signed copy after all the help you’ve given me.”

 

Thorin cheered up a bit.  The book was being published at last and soon the elves of the Undying Lands would know all there was to know about dwarven sexual behaviour and he spent a smug moment imagining the jealousy they were bound to feel.  On the other hand, he was very curious about what elves like Thranduil got up to in the bedroom but he didn’t think there would be many surprises.  After all, he had received some sex education lessons from Ellandel along with a group of young elves and when he had tried out elven techniques on Tauriel, she had burst out laughing.  Nope. No competition.

 

And so he was more than willing to pull out the laptop and push it in Frodo’s direction.  “There you go, Frodo,” he said.  “I want to see the end product; so, write a story about it being published and then we can all have a read.”

 

“Yes,” laughed Frodo.  “I’m keen for this to be a best-seller and so I not only want to print off the book, I want to describe the aftermath.”

 

Then, he opened the laptop and began typing:

 

Thorin and the Sex Manual

 

The first hint Thorin had that something strange was happening was when he received a sudden rush of orders at his forge.  It really was the oddest thing.  People wanted handcuffs and chains and little balls made of mithril and silver.  There were no criminals and villains in the Undying Lands waiting to be captured and imprisoned and he could make neither head nor tail of the balls unless they were connected with some new game or other that had suddenly taken off.

 

Another odd thing was that all the orders were being placed by the ladies and, when they came to collect their purchases, Thorin couldn’t resist having a bit of a probe.

 

“Chaining your husband up in the yard?” he had asked one of them in a jocular fashion.  Instead of laughing at his joke, she had turned a bright red and had hurried away with her parcel.

 

Another weird thing was how quiet it had suddenly become.  Usually, as he walked down the hill to the harbour, he would see little groups of elven women gossiping together in each other’s gardens, or they would be tending to their vegetable patches or he would see them in the woods, looking for soft, wild fruits or picking posies of wild flowers.  But, no-one was to be seen these days.  Where were they?  What were they doing?

 

Well, they had their heads stuck in a book.  Whilst their husbands got on with the important things in life, the women were buying Frodo’s _magnum opus_.  Then they were tucking themselves up in a comfortable fireside chair where they would read it from cover to cover.  And then, when they had finished, they turned back to the beginning and read it all over again, just to make sure that they had perfectly understood all the fine details.

 

“What are you reading, dear heart?” the men would say.

 

“Oh, you know, just a book,” they would respond vaguely.

 

“Would I enjoy it, do you think?” was often the next question. 

 

“Mm, perhaps,” was the muttered response.  And the husbands, who often weren’t big readers anyway, left it at that.

 

And it was usually at this point, after they had got through the book for a second time, that they paid Thorin a visit up at his forge.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

When Arion and Poppy had left on the last ship from the Grey Havens, they had asked Darri if he minded them having a poke around the cluttered forge where he now lived and worked to see if they could find any mementos to take with them from their former life there.  It was just as well that they did, because he hadn’t known about Thorin’s secret hiding place where he had kept important things safe from orc attacks.

 

They had assumed that Thorin would have removed everything to the town vaults, but, right at the back of the cubby-hole, they found some interesting odds and ends.  There was a delicate gold brooch which he had made for their mother: the clasp was broken and he had been in the middle of a repair on the day he had been obliged to leave Middle-earth.

 

And there was also a set of manacles with a key.

 

At first they were puzzled and then Poppy laughed.  “Do you remember that old story they used to tell about how our mother chained him to the pillar the first night that they met?  I bet the old softie has had difficulty getting rid of them for sentimental reasons.”

 

This seemed likely and so they had stuffed these objects in their bag and taken them with them when they left.  Arion gave Thorin the brooch on the quiet so that he could repair it and surprise the elf.  And Poppy also gave her mother the manacles privately because she knew that the dwarf could be a bit sensitive about the ignominy of that time.

 

“Oh, yes!” Tauriel had laughed.  “Those are the very same manacles.  What a thing to keep!”  And she had dropped them in a drawer and then forgotten about them…….Until now.

 

After the publication of his book, Frodo had stopped by at the Oakenshields’ house with a signed copy for Thorin.  But Thorin was helping Lostwithiel with some repair work on his roof after a violent storm the previous evening and he wasn’t there.  And so, Frodo left it with Tauriel and went off home, back to the harbour.

 

“The book’s selling very well,” he had said proudly.  “It’s about to go into its third print run.”  And it was certainly a lovely thing to hold and behold, she thought, bound as it was in soft leather with the title printed in gold leaf.

 

“And it’s illustrated too,” the hobbit had continued, very pleased with these additions.

 

The elf turned pink as she flicked through the pages.  “Erm – so I see,” she had said.

 

And then she had sat down and read the book from cover to cover.

 

 _The Sexual Habits and Mores of Elves and Dwarves_ was a bit of a misnomer, she decided after she had finished: more like _The Sexual Habits of One Dwarf and One Elf_ , she reckoned.

 

And Tauriel was right.  When Frodo had done a bit of travelling during the winter to find material for his great work, he discovered that there were few others who were as forthcoming about what they got up to in the privacy of their own homes as Thorin and Thranduil had been.  When he had approached Gimli, the only other dwarf available for consultation, he had said quite firmly that he and Legolas were still uneasy about coming out of the closet to all and sundry and, since any information about their love-life would obviously be of a certain nature, this would immediately spill the beans about them.  “But, you’re welcome to come again once we have found our courage,” he had said gruffly, “and then perhaps you can write an Appendix.”  And that’s all he would offer.

 

The elves he had approached had backed off with a fluttering of hands.  There was no way they were willing to share such intimacies……although they always said, “Let us know when it’s published because it’s bound to contain stuff we’d love to read about.”  Frodo felt quite grumpy at that: they wanted to stick their noses into other people’s private lives but weren’t willing to share any details of their own.  How selfish could you get!

 

And so he had to fall back on the information given to him by Thorin and Thranduil.  He was lucky that there were at least two people here who liked to out-boast each other.  And, between them, they had certainly given him plenty of material.

 

Tauriel had skimmed the first part of the book about dwarves as soon as she realised that it was, actually, all about Thorin – and she knew this stuff anyway from enjoyable personal experience.  It was a tad exaggerated, perhaps, but an otherwise reasonable summary of their love-life and Thorin’s techniques.  It was all about enthusiasm, tenderness, stamina and how many times a night a partner found intimacy acceptable.

 

But she hastened to get to the second part of the book which had been supplied by Thranduil because, guiltily, she was wondering if she were missing out on anything.  She read this section with a permanent blush on her face because it was about the weirdest things – things she had never contemplated before, like handcuffs, chains and dungeons, not to mention silver balls – but which made her go all hot under the collar.  She examined every illustration very carefully, read the second half again….and then hid the book in the drawer along with the manacles.

 

She felt as if she wanted to discuss it with other people – and laugh about it, just so that she could dismiss all these silly ideas.  But the thought of discussing it with Poppy or Rosie or Challis made her turn bright red again.  And so, why had she hidden it?  Didn’t she want Thorin to read it so that they could giggle together?  No, she didn’t.  And she wasn’t quite sure why.  Perhaps it would give him too many ideas…..But then she realised that the book had given _her_ ideas and she just couldn’t get them out of her head.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Perhaps she was right about not sharing the book with Thorin, because Mary Sue had bought a copy and had shared it with Arion.  He had read the first half with a certain sense of discomfiture, knowing that he was getting a close look into his father’s love-life; and perhaps these were things he just didn’t want to know about, even though he was mainly in agreement with them, having received some instruction from Thorin before he had gone off to bed his betrothed.

 

But, the second half he read with a permanent look of disgust on his face.  “Well,” he snorted angrily, “I hope you don’t expect me to do any of these things to you – they’re quite perverted!”

 

Mary Sue knew that Arion had a history of being strait-laced but she was surprised at his anger.  “I thought you would giggle about it with me,” she said.

 

“No,” he retorted.  “I am, in fact, very angry that Frodo has seen fit to expose my wife to such filth.”

 

Mary Sue burst out laughing.  “You don’t have to worry about my sensibilities, “she said, “I used to read loads of stuff like this back in my own world.  It’s very popular.”

 

“What!!?” The word exploded from him and he looked appalled.  “You mean books like this are readily available where you come from and you actually found it enjoyable to read them?”  And he drew back from her.

 

Mary Sue suddenly realised she was walking on dangerous ground.

 

“Well, because such books are common, most people don’t seem to mind.  And they can even help with your sex life because they are so stimulating.”  The moment she said this, she realised it was the wrong thing to say.  Arion suddenly became very quiet.

 

Finally, he said very carefully and between gritted teeth: “And are you saying that you had a sex life with someone in your world before you had one with me?”

 

Mary Sue couldn’t bring herself to say anything and, suddenly, she felt quite afraid.  Arion read her answer in her silence, threw the book down on the sofa and marched out of the room.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin came back from helping Lostwithiel and found Tauriel waiting for him, grinning wickedly.  She drew him into the room by his braids and locked the door behind him.  “We’re not at home,” she said.

 

Thorin grinned back and wondered what had happened to put his wife in such a mood in the middle of the day.  “I want to show you something,” she said, and pulled him into the bedroom.  Thorin’s grin became wider.

 

But, then she went to the chest of drawers and pulled out a set of manacles.  “Do you recognise these?” she asked.  Of course he did.  And he raised an enquiring eyebrow.

 

“Well,” she said in a sultry voice, “I was just sitting here remembering how perfectly scrumptious you looked, chained to that pillar in the forge – completely helpless and at my mercy.  Poppy found these at the forge and brought them over some months ago.  How about we relive the incident?”  And she pushed him backwards until he fell upon the bed and she climbed astride him and began unbuttoning his shirt.

 

Thorin felt confused – so many thoughts began to run through his head.  He was certainly not averse to a bit of you-know, especially so unexpectedly and in the middle of the day.  But, he associated these manacles with a humiliating experience.  He wasn’t quite sure why he had kept them, except that they reminded him of when he and Tauriel had first met.  But, did he want to be chained up again?  And would it put him off his stroke?  All that could be said for it was that  it certainly seemed to be having a stimulating effect on Tauriel and so he decided to relax and let her have her wicked way with him.

 

It didn’t take long for her to strip off all his clothing but, strangely, she remained dressed.  And when he tried to undo the buttons down the front of her blouse, she gently stopped him.  “Not yet,” she whispered.  It bothered him, but he succumbed to her wishes.

 

“And now,” she said gently, “reach up and grasp the bedhead.”  And, when he did so, she manacled his wrists to the rails and placed the key out of reach.

 

Thorin squirmed.  Lying there, naked and handcuffed on the bed, whilst Tauriel stood there fully clothed made him feel very vulnerable and uncomfortable.  “I don’t like this, my love,” he said finally.  “Can you unlock me?”

 

Tauriel looked vaguely annoyed.  “I’m only experimenting with something, Thorin.  Won’t you just tolerate this for a bit?”

 

That was the wrong word.  “Experimenting!?” he exclaimed.  “No, I really don’t like this, Tauriel.  Undo me now.”

 

Tauriel flung herself off the bed.  “As usual,” she snapped, “it’s all about what _you_ like, never about what might appeal to me!  All I’m asking is for you to let me make love to you whilst you’re chained to the bed.  What’s so wrong with that?”

 

Well, a lot felt wrong for Thorin.  He remembered how she had chained him to that pillar and then had left him.  He might have died.  And then he had been chained up in Thranduil’s dungeon.  That captivity had not only been another humiliating experience but had seemed to mark the end of his Quest.  He felt a panic attack coming on.

 

“Unlock me now, Tauriel,” he growled.  “I don’t want to play any more of these silly games.”

 

But Tauriel did.  It had felt strangely exciting when she had put on those manacles and had had her powerful husband at her mercy.  And now he was spoiling things.

 

“You handcuffed me once before,” he tried to explain.  “And then you left me.  I don’t want to do this.”

 

“Not even for me?” she asked.

 

“No, not even for you.”  And he couldn’t help it but the rising panic made his voice come out in a snarl.

 

“You’re just so selfish!” she snapped and, before he could argue or plead any further with her, she had flounced out of the room and he heard the front door slam shut behind her.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The panic rose in Thorin’s throat but he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in slowly and deeply until he had fought it off.  She would come back soon and then she would release him and apologise.  And he grinned to himself as he thought about what might accompany that apology.  Then he heard the front door open.  Ahh, he thought and then “Tauriel!” he yelled.  “Tauriel!”

 

A head poked around the bedroom door and it wasn’t Tauriel but Lostwithiel.  Thorin rolled his eyes but, better that the elf had found him like this rather than one of his children – or, indeed, his granddaughter.

 

“Unlock me,” he growled and nodded at the key.

 

But Lostwithiel just stood there with one eyebrow raised.  “My, my,” he said.  “Not another lady who’s been reading Frodo’s book.”

 

And, then, the penny dropped and it all made sense: the recent commissions at his forge, the embarrassment of his customers, the disappearance of so many women from the streets and Tauriel’s sudden interest in the manacles even though they must have been lying around for weeks.

 

“Frodo!” he muttered.  “I’ll kill that hobbit when I see him next.  Now, just unlock me!”

 

“Not sure about that,” grinned the elf lord, lounging in the bedroom chair.  “This is just too much fun.”

 

“Lostwithiel!” yelled Thorin.  “Stop messing about!  I’d free you if I found you like this.”

 

The elf furrowed his brow.  “No,” he mused, “I don’t think you would.  I think you’d sit back and enjoy it just like I’m doing.”

 

Thorin sighed.  He was probably right.  And the more he pushed him, the more he would resist.  He changed the subject and went back to Frodo.

 

“So, Frodo’s book’s been published?” he asked.  “I didn’t know.”

 

“Yes, all the women have been reading it and it’s put ideas in their heads.  The problem is, the first half just gives all your ideas about dwarven sexual practice,” (Thorin smirked), “which are a bit limited.”  (Thorin glowered).  “And the second half is all the information that he got out of Thranduil, who just so happens to be into bondage.”

 

“He certainly is,” said Thorin, remembering his time in the elven king’s dungeons.

 

“No,” laughed Lostwithiel.  “Not that sort of bondage.  I’m talking about sexual bondage.”

 

Thorin blinked.  “You mean some people think that tying up others is sexy?”

 

“Oh, my poor innocent!” laughed the elf.

 

Thorin harrumphed.  “Well, it’s not the sort of thing we dwarves are into,” he said.

 

“But it is the sort of thing that some elves who have lived for thousands of years are into.  Life can get a bit boring, you know.”

 

“Well, now you’ve had your fun,” said Thorin, trying again, “are you going to unlock these manacles?”

 

“No,” said Lostwithiel, getting to his feet.  “I think you’ll find it more entertaining if you wait for Tauriel to do that.”

 

Then he turned back for a moment as he made his exit: “Oh, and by the way:  nice body,” he said.

 

.o00o.

 

“Father!” yelled Arion.  “Are you in?!”

 

Oh no, thought Thorin and he lay very still and very quiet.  But Arion threw open the bedroom door.  “There you are,” he said.  And he flung himself down in the bedroom chair.

 

“It’s Mary Sue,” he said.  “She’s been reading Frodo’s book.”

 

“Yes, and so has your mother,” muttered Thorin.

 

“I can see that,” said Arion.  “But I’ve read it too and it’s disgusting.  I’ve had a bit of a row with Mary Sue and I’m very upset.”

 

“What about?” asked Thorin, pretending that he always gave audiences in his bedroom, chained to his bed and in the altogether.

 

“Well, it would seem that people from her world are a lot more promiscuous than we are and I’m guessing that I’m not the only one she’s ever slept with.”

 

“Are you glad that you met Mary Sue?” asked Thorin.

 

“Yes,” said Arion.

 

“And are you glad that she’s your wife?”

 

“Yes,” said Arion.

 

“And can you turn back the clock and change things?”

 

“No,” said Arion.

 

“Well, just accept it, then,” said Thorin tersely, “and be glad for the advantages that an experienced woman in your bed may bring.”

 

Arion thought for a bit.  “I expect you’re right,” he sighed.  “I’ll go home and make things up with her.”  And he got up from the chair and drifted out of the room, lost in thought.

 

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, as he got to the door.  “I’d put something on if I were you.  You’ll catch your death of cold.”  And then he was gone.

 

.o00o.

 

Not long after, Tauriel returned.  She entered the room cautiously.  “Are you mad with me?” she asked.

 

“Of course I’m not,” he said amiably.  “Why should I be mad?  After all, you’ve only left me chained up for hours and I’ve only had to entertain Lostwithiel and Arion whilst lying stark naked on my bed, freezing to death.”

 

“Well,” she said grumpily, sitting down on the chair, “I shan’t let you go if you’re going to talk like that.”

 

“Where have you been?” he asked.

 

“I went down to the elven settlement to have a cup of tea with them and calm down.  But no-one’s any fun down there.  The women have all got their heads in that book and the men have all gone to bed, suffering from exhaustion.”

 

“Exhaustion?” asked Thorin.

 

“Yes, comes of trying to do it four times a night when you don’t have dwarven stamina.”

 

Thorin roared with gleeful laughter.  Then he wheedled: “Come on, my love.  Unlock me, please.”

 

“Only,” said Tauriel with a grin, “only if you’ll let me kiss you first.”

 

“Go ahead,” he sighed.

 

And so she climbed on the bed and then on top of Thorin and kissed him passionately all over for the next five minutes.  Then finally: “Nope,” she said.  “It’s doing nothing for me.  I think I need your strong arms around me for it to feel right.”

 

And she got the key and finally set Thorin free.  “And just when I was beginning to enjoy myself,” he laughed.

 

But they enjoyed it an awful lot more once Tauriel had stripped off and joined her husband under the coverlet.

 

“That Thranduil doesn’t know what he’s missing,” she sighed.

 

And Thorin had to agree.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Sorry about that, Thorin,” said Frodo, pulling an apologetic face.  “But I did so want my book to be a success.  I expect it will be a flash in the pan for a week and then everything will go back to normal.”_

_“They already are back to normal,” grinned Thorin and he pulled his wife to him and gave her a smacking great kiss.)_

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Book Signing. Sounds a bit boring, doesn’t it? But, actually, it’s a continuation of this episode. Frodo decides to set up a literary event where he can sign his books and meet his public. He invites Thorin and Thranduil along too, not only to sign books but also to give talks about best sexual practice during the course of the day. And we all know how they like to outdo each other, don’t we?


	52. Thorin and the Book Signing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This follows on from Thorin and the Sex Manual and I hope it gives you as much fun! Frodo is going to do a book signing and he asks Thorin and Thranduil to join him for the day. Would they also do a few little talks, he asks? And is this an opportunity for our favourite dwarf to outboast his rival, or will Thranduil prove to be the most successful guest speaker of the day?

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin……And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Book Signing

 

Pt I

 

After the incident with the manacles, Thorin and Tauriel spent a night of delightful, unalloyed, vanilla sex.  “Who needs handcuffs or chains or even little silver balls?” he had murmured.  “All I need is you.”

 

They both wondered how long it would be before people became tired of the ideas in Frodo’s book.  “I shall be able to tell when my orders for instruments of bondage begin to tail off,” he laughed.  And then they wondered how the whole thing had affected members of their family.

 

“Well, from Arion’s indignant reaction,” grinned the dwarf, “I don’t reckon they’re doing anything differently in that household.  And I’m guessing that Rosie’s still too newly-wed to be interested in any extreme form of stimulus.  But, I wouldn’t put it past Lostwithiel and Poppy to have a bit of a trial run with some novelty toys.”

 

“But, who cares, my love,” said Tauriel, kissing him on the nose.  “It really isn’t any of our business.”

 

“No,” he murmured huskily, pulling her towards him once more, “we’ve got plenty of our own business to be getting on with.”

 

.o00o.

 

Challis plodded up the path that led to the forge.  That book of Frodo’s had certainly stirred up a hornets’ nest, both in her mind and within her marriage.  She and Lithin had been happily married for a long time but it was a typical partnership between elves: they had enjoyed a lively intimacy before Beren had been born but, then, their interest in sex had totally disappeared, just as Frodo had indicated in his book.  However, now that Beren was married and had moved away from home, she was beginning to feel a bit restless.  And reading that book hadn’t helped because it had really focussed her mind on what she was missing.  So, time to do something about it, perhaps.

 

She passed by the forge’s vegetable patch which Thorin had expanded considerably.  It was almost a small field now.  On the far side, with his back to her, Thorin was busy digging and she paused in the shade of the trees to watch him there.  He was stripped to the waist – he was doing that a lot more just recently as if he didn’t care that any passer-by could look at his tattoos – and she could see the muscles of his back and arms rippling as he rhythmically dug, bent and threw.

 

Well, she knew that many elves would find those tattoos barbaric, but she rather liked them: they had an exotic – even erotic – appeal.  And she stood mesmerised as they danced up and down across his well-built form.  He looked different from her husband or from any other elf, for that matter.  He was so much stronger and she wondered what it must feel like to be crushed against that muscular chest within the circle of those powerful arms.

 

And, according to That Book, dwarves had stamina – in whatever they did.  And she watched his digging, unflagging in its rhythm.  And she thought about the difference between Tauriel’s sex life and her own.  Four times a night!  At least!  Well, that was the implication.  But, even allowing for exaggeration, personally, she would be happy with just once a night, but that hadn’t happened in years.  She let out a great sigh and continued on her plodding way to the forge. 

 

Tauriel opened the door to her and smiled with pleasure.

 

“What can I do for you, Challis?” she asked and invited her into the house.

 

“Well, I’ve got a problem,” she replied, “which I might be able to sort out with a story.  So, I’ve come to see if I can borrow the laptop.”

 

“Of course you can,” said Tauriel, digging it out of the cupboard.

 

“Is it a problem we can help you with?” asked Thorin as he heard the last exchange.

 

Startled, Challis turned around only to find herself far too close to a broad, naked chest.  She swallowed and her eyes travelled further down a firm abdomen to the tattoos just peeking out over the top of his waistband.

 

“Umm, no, no.  Thank you,” she muttered and, thrusting the laptop under her arm, she hurried out of the forge and down the hill to her tree house.  Once within the privacy of her own home, she opened up the laptop and wrote the title:

 

Thorin and the Book Signing

 

And then she began her story.

 

Pt II

 

The first person who had ever bowled Challis over was Thorin Oakenshield.  She had never even seen a dwarf before but, at a party in the Grey Havens, soon after her arrival in the area, one of the elven guards from the outpost which protected Ered Luin had introduced her to him as the husband of the elf who would be her captain if she decided that she wanted to join the outpost too.

 

She had turned around and there he had stood, looking so very different, that her first reaction was one of distaste, even disgust.  But then he had looked at her with those wonderful blue eyes and had spoken in such a richly sensuous baritone voice and had taken her by the elbow and steered her so masterfully across a crowded room to a secluded corner that she was stunned. 

 

They had chatted together for the rest of the evening and, by the end of it, her heart was beating wildly and she just wanted to talk with him forever.  Then Lostwithiel had interrupted and she had been furious.  Thorin had looked amused and had cleverly cut the elf out of the conversation, focussing his attention on her once more.  When he had finally swaggered away, he had taken a bit of her heart with him.

 

Of course, her fantasies about him had soon come crashing down.  At her birthday party, she had finally met his wife; and Tauriel was so beautiful that Challis had felt like a pale shadow in her presence.  Thorin was in love with his wife and that was the end of it.  And then the blow was softened and her wounded feelings massaged when Lithin fell in love with her.  She had married him and they had been very happy ever since……until she had read the book and thoughts of sex and Thorin Oakenshield had re-entered her mind once more.

 

.o00o.

 

“I’m a bit disappointed in my book, really,” said Frodo to Thorin and Tauriel one afternoon when he was sitting on their front porch drinking a cup of tea.

 

“Why on earth is that?” laughed Tauriel.  “It’s a best seller and just about every woman has read it.”

 

“It’s not its popular success so much,” sighed Frodo.  “You see, I wanted it to be a great academic work, full of statistics and stuff.  But Thorin and Thranduil were the only two prepared to give me any information and so it’s not exactly a balanced, in-depth report.”

 

“But, it’s given people a lot of fun,” grinned Thorin.

 

“That’s true,” agreed the hobbit, “but it’s also given people a good idea as to the originators of the opinions expressed in the book.  They all know it’s you and Thranduil and I apologise for putting you both in the spotlight.   I hope it hasn’t caused you any embarrassment.”

 

“Don’t worry,” laughed Thorin.  “It’s nice to feel famous and have people staring at you as you walk down the street.  It’s only my wife who has embarrassed me!”  And he gave her an arch look, remembering the manacles and his unfortunate visitors.  Tauriel looked huffy and he kissed her cheek.  “But, I forgive you,” he said and she slapped him on the wrist.

 

“Well,” continued Frodo, suddenly cheering up, “if you don’t mind people knowing about your contributions, I was thinking of inviting you and Thranduil to a literary meeting where you can both join me in signing copies of my book and then perhaps you could give a little talk and agree to a question and answer session.”

 

“Oh, he’ll agree to anything that involves him boasting about his sexual prowess,” said Tauriel and, this time, it was Thorin’s turn to slap her gently on the wrist.

 

“Don’t worry, Frodo.  I’ll be there.  Just let me know the day and the time.”  And Thorin went off whistling, trying to think of topics for his little talk to an appreciative audience.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil too was more than happy to boast about his sexual techniques.  “I believe there’s been a run on handcuffs, whips and silver balls,” he smirked.  “It’s patently obvious that sex with me is a hundred times more fun than sex with any dwarf.  Tauriel doesn’t know what she’s missing.”  But he said this last under his breath just in case his remarks should get back to Thorin.

 

“And you’d like me to give a little talk too?” he asked Frodo.  “Well, I think I could give a whole series of talks throughout the day, if you like.  I have a very lively mind, you know, and my imagination is limitless……..unlike that of some people I could mention.”  And he went away to jot down some thoughts that had immediately popped into his head.

 

Frodo was more than pleased and began to send out invitations and to stick up posters advertising the event.  “That should sell a few more books,” commented Bilbo.

 

“I don’t care about the book sales,” was the response.  “It’s just important to me that my readers get as much pleasure and information out of my work as possible.”

 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about the pleasure aspect,” laughed Bilbo.  “It’s patently obvious that everyone’s having a fun time reading your book.  But, I do wonder how much correct information you are getting out of our two kings.  And if they come to talk at your event, I reckon they will listen to each other’s lectures and then try to outdo each other.”

 

“Oh dear,” asked Frodo.  “Do you really think so?”

 

“I shouldn’t worry too much,” said Bilbo, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder.  “I’m afraid your audience will have come just to be entertained not to listen to some serious academic research paper.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

The day of the event arrived and the Moot Hall was packed.  Bilbo was selling books like hot cakes whilst Frodo, Thorin and Thranduil sat at separate tables ready to sign them.  Already excited queues wound their way around the room.

 

Thranduil was looking very grand as usual, dressed in a silver surcoat and even wearing one of his writhing mithril crowns.  But Thorin was dressed like a dwarven war-lord.

 

There had been some argument in the Oakenshield family over his manner of dress, with the whole family chipping in with an opinion.  Most of them, including Tauriel, had wanted him to put on his fine velvet robes.  But, “It’s not a party!” he had said and he had chosen some impressive fighting gear: chain mail, wide mithril belt, long leather coat with a large, furry collar, all topped off with an axe on his back and Orcrist at his side.

 

“You’re not going into battle,” sighed Tauriel.

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he had replied.  And the majority opinion was that he looked magnificent – not to mention majestic – and a match for the king of Mirkwood any day.

 

In fact, Thorin seemed to hold great allure for the crowds.  First they queued for Frodo, the author.  And then they tended to split up and either join the Thranduil or the Thorin queue.  And Thorin smiled smugly into his beard when he saw that his queue was noticeably longer than that of Thranduil’s.  He was pretty confident that Thranduil had noticed this too, but, since the elven king always wore an aloof sneer on his face, it was too hard to tell whether or not he was annoyed by this.

 

Thranduil had, in fact, noticed and was, indeed, annoyed.  First round to Thorin.  But, let’s wait until our lectures begin, he thought, and see which of us draws the largest crowds then.

 

He had chosen the titles of his little talks with care, intending them to be a bit of a come-on:

 

  1. _1._ _Whipping up Enthusiasm._
  2. _2._ _Who’s got the Biggest Silver Balls?_
  3. _3._ _Tie me up, Tie me down._



And, just in case these were too subtle:

 

  1. _Hot sex with the Elven King._



 

He had checked out the titles of Thorin’s talks and they didn’t sound half as exciting, although he did think the first one might draw a bit of a crowd because it was called:

 

  1. _1._ _How Many Times per Night?_



 

But then they started to sound a lot more dull:

 

  1. _2._ _Love me Tender, Love me True._
  2. _3._ _Coping with Jealousy._



And……

  1. _4._ _King under the Counterpane._



 

Thorin noticed as he signed his books that there was a strange difference between his queue and that of Thranduil’s.  A lot of giggling seemed to be coming from the elf’s table – he’s probably making a lot of witty remarks, Thorin thought – but, at his table, there was mainly silence.  I’m being a bit grunty, thought the dwarf as he growled “Next!” and took the book from an admiring female. 

 

The pretty elf passed over her book with wide, staring eyes.  Like many who had gone before, she had the book open at chapter two which had the title: _Dwarven Stamina_.  “Best chapter in the book,” she whispered.  “Amazing!”

 

Thorin tried harder to be pleasant to the customers.  “So, did you enjoy it then?” he asked. 

 

“Oh, yes!” she murmured.  “And the section on the love-life of dwarves was just so…..so…..”

 

“Stimulating?”

 

“Yes, yes.  And, so…..so…….”

 

“Erotic?”

 

“Definitely, yes.  And, so…..so….”

 

“Absolutely mind-blowing?”

 

She agreed with an enthusiastic nod of her head and continued to stare fixedly at him.  Time to move on.  “Next!” growled Thorin.

 

At the adjacent table, Thranduil continued to tease and his customers continued to giggle.  But, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how little Thorin was doing to muster up attention; and yet, everyone left his table, clutching their books in a daze and with a besotted look in their eyes.  What on earth was he doing that was so right and was he, himself, doing anything that was wrong?  He would never understand Thorin’s attraction.  Never.

 

And then there was a short tea-break and both elf and dwarf took turns to deliver their first lecture.

 

Thranduil’s little talk, _Whipping up Enthusiasm_ , began with a Show and Tell as he produced a selection of whips and explained about the near alliance of titillation and pain.  Everyone giggled nervously and wriggled rather uncomfortably in their seats, but they were all keen to handle the whips as he passed them around the audience.  I think that should be counted a success, he thought, as they gave him an enthusiastic burst of applause.

 

Then Thorin got rather tentatively to his feet.  He was used to making rousing speeches about such things as taking back one’s kingdom from a dragon, but he was not used to talking in public about private matters.  “Honestly, Thorin,” Frodo had reassured him, “just keep telling yourself that you are helping – even saving – people’s marriages with your advice.”  But, he had listened to Thranduil’s talk and had wondered how on earth his suggested methods of love-making could possibly help anyone and then had begun to worry about his own words of advice.  But Frodo nodded encouragingly from across the room and he squared his shoulders and strode up to the podium.

 

Drat! thought Thranduil.  He had been hoping that Thorin would squirm and mutter and hunch over the lectern in embarrassment, but instead, he looked straight into the faces of his audience with those wonderful blue eyes of his and they responded as if he were their magnetic north.  The elf had to admit that he looked quite magnificent, standing there in his warrior’s gear; and he also had to admit that his tips on How to Do It more than once or twice a night were all very sensible and insightful.  In fact, Thranduil found himself fumbling for a pencil in his pocket and taking surreptitious notes.

 

But, when Thorin reached the end of his little speech, there was silence and, for a moment, the elven king optimistically wondered if the talk had bombed.  But the audience was only catching its breath and after the space of three heart-beats, they burst into rapturous applause.  His family, who were standing quietly at the back and Tauriel who had slipped in and was standing out of sight behind a pillar, were among those who cheered and applauded the loudest.  And, if it weren’t for the fact that free food was on offer next, Thranduil could have sworn that most of the room would have dashed off home there and then to try out some of Thorin’s suggestions.

 

But, it was time for the buffet lunch.

 

“Mingle!  Mingle!” whispered Frodo to the elf and the dwarf.  And Thorin found that his tentative efforts at polite socialising meant that he didn’t get the time to eat very much at all because he was surrounded by a gaggle of pretty ladies who wanted to thank him for helping them with their love-lives.  They insisted on telling him every detail of their sexual problems – just as if he were some kind of physician, he thought – and then they expected him to talk just as openly in return.  Thorin found himself turning very pink about the ears and was quite relieved when Frodo announced that the afternoon session was about to start.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thranduil’s next two lectures about the optimum usage of silver balls and the fun to be found in bondage were received quite well but, since just about everyone had already given these things a try after reading the relevant chapters in the book, he was really offering nothing different.

 

However, Thorin’s next two talks were not about the mere mechanics of sex but were about the emotions: how to give and receive love, how to get on top of any feelings of jealousy and how to make up successfully if one’s jealousy ever got the upper hand.  The audience sat there misty-eyed and full of romantic longing.  More useful and practical tips, thought Thranduil, scribbling furiously and trying to block out the sound of thunderous applause that assailed his ears.

 

And then they all had afternoon tea before plunging into the last round of lectures.

 

Thranduil tried to pull out all the stops in his talk on _Hot Sex_.  He reminisced on all the most spectacular incidents in his very long life and threw in all sorts of extras about things he had always fancied doing but had never done.  And, on top of that, he had set up a flip chart on which he had drawn various diagrams illustrating that all the things that he had described were, in fact, definitely possible.  The audience sat there round-mouthed and wide-eyed.  There, he thought, if that doesn’t sock it to them then nothing will.  And so he was disappointed that the applause, although enthusiastic in its way, just somehow lacked a certain _je ne sais quoi._

 

Thorin, on the other hand, was greeted with prolonged applause before he even started.  His _King Under the Counterpane_ speech did not, in fact, contain any more factual sexual information but was an extraordinarily funny account of all the mistakes he had ever made in bed.  His listeners absolutely rocked with laughter as Thorin wryly told them a seemingly unending series of stories about how even a dwarf who supposedly knew everything there was to know about love still hadn’t managed to get things right - repeatedly.  He told them about the time he had got cramp at a critical moment and about another time when his hair had got trapped in the bed railings.  And then he told them how, in the middle of one passionate session, a spider had fallen upon his face from the ceiling and he had struck out ferociously in an effort to kill it but had only managed to knock Tauriel unconscious; and he even told them about the moment when he had got into bed with Lostwithiel, thinking he was his wife.

 

The idiot! thought Thranduil.  What has possessed him to make such a fool of himself?  No-one will ever think that he’s sexy again!

 

By the time that Thorin had finished, the audience was holding their sides in pain and the tears were streaming down their cheeks.  Gasping for breath, they still managed to raise their voice in a cheer.  And the applause went on forever.

 

What Thranduil was unable to understand was that, by revealing so much about his own inadequacies, Thorin had given his listeners a powerful sense of their own self-worth and they now felt an overwhelming feeling of gratitude to him for making them believe that they could also be great lovers whatever mistakes they might make.

 

This very successful day was rounded off with a Question and Answer session, manned by the two kings.  The questions aimed at Thranduil were mainly superficial and tongue-in-cheek.  But the majority were directed towards Thorin and the audience leaned forward attentively and listened carefully to his answers.

 

By this time, Thorin was relaxed and charming, confident that he had guessed at all the questions that he might get asked and that he had an answer ready for them.  Most of them were variations on a theme and one beautiful elf summed things up when she said:  “What is the optimum number of times per night for making love?”

 

Thorin smiled and, dancing around the bush, he pronounced:  “There is no optimum number.  Sometimes it’s once; sometimes a lot more than once; and sometimes not at all.  You must do whatever you think is right for you and your partner and your circumstances.”

 

The audience laughed and clapped and nodded their agreement.  And then, satisfied with that answer, they moved on to the next.  “We’ve noticed from that painting of you hanging on the wall that you have tattoos poking out from below your belt,” was one question.   “Can you tell us what they are or perhaps even show us?”  (And this was said with a cheeky nuance to the voice which provoked a ripple of laughter from the listeners.)

 

Thorin waggled his finger at his naughty audience.  “I’m sorry, ladies,” he said with an infectious grin that had them all grinning back, “but what’s hidden by the trousers, stays hidden by the trousers.”  And the room collapsed in gales of laughter once more.

 

Then suddenly Thorin noticed Challis waving her hand around and he decided to risk asking her for her question.  He really didn’t trust friends and relatives to refrain from being provocative but Challis looked so keen that he gave in.  He pointed to her and she stood up with such a serious look on her face that a hush immediately fell upon the audience.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “if you feel this is a personal question….”

 

“But surely they’ve all been personal?” was Thorin’s laughing response.

 

But Challis carried on doggedly: “I have a friend who fell in love with you the first time she met you at a party in the Grey Havens.”  And, suddenly, Thorin guessed.  Challis wasn’t talking about a friend but about herself and he remembered guiltily that time when he had deliberately set out to make Challis find him attractive.  He gave the elf his full attention and you could have heard a pin drop in the hall.  “Go on,” he said.

 

“My friend managed to put you out of her mind for years.  She met and married a lovely person and had a wonderful child and, in the way of most elves, sexual intimacy no longer became important either to her or to her husband.  But then she read the book and it has not only stirred up dissatisfaction with the non-existent state of her current sex life, but she has begun to think constantly about you, Thorin Oakenshield.  What on earth should she do?”  And Challis abruptly sat down. 

 

Recognising the seriousness of this question, all eyes turned upon Thorin and the audience waited patiently and expectantly for an answer.  Also recognising its seriousness and not wanting to indicate in any way that the “friend” was actually Challis, Thorin gave the question its proper consideration and due.

 

“If your friend met me in a public place,” he said, “then she did not fall in love with me but with an image – an image that I project – a pretence – a fantasy figure.  And so, I would question that she has fallen in love with the real Thorin Oakenshield.  Only my wife knows the real me – even my children know only the part I care to show them.

 

“Secondly: she has become dissatisfied with the non-existence of her sex life.  I understand that this is an elven matter, but she has changed so surely her husband can change too and give her the satisfaction that she seeks?  Has he read the book, do you know?”

 

“I doubt it,” laughed Challis and many in the room laughed along with her in understanding.  “Look how few men are in the room.  This is a reflection of their attitude: they don’t believe that they have anything to learn.”

 

“Then I suggest,” said Thorin gently, “that she somehow makes her husband read the book and I’m reasonably certain that it will prompt him to try out some things he hasn’t thought about for quite a few years.  Then perhaps your friend will forget all about me.”

 

Challis gave Thorin a warm and grateful smile.  “Thank you,” she said, and Thorin nodded conspiratorially back at her.

 

.o00o.

 

( _Challis shut the laptop with a sense of satisfaction._

_“What have you been doing, dear heart?” asked Lithin, coming into the room.  “I’ve been waiting for ages for you to come to bed.”_

_“Well,” said Challis, reaching over to a drawer.  “I’ll come to bed on one condition.”_

_“And what might that be?” he smiled._

_She reached inside the drawer and turned to him: “I’ll come if you will sit up in bed and read this book,” she replied._

_Lithin looked slightly bemused.  “Of course I will if you say so, dearest.”_

_“Well, I am definitely saying so,” said Challis as she dragged her husband off to the bedroom_.)

 

.o00o.

 

It was the end of a long day and Thorin was finally at home in bed with Tauriel.

 

“You were marvellous,” she said.

 

“Ah,” he grinned.  “I thought I saw you skulking behind that pillar.”

 

“I wasn’t skulking,” she said indignantly.  “I was trying not to distract you and put you off your stroke.”

 

“But, you _always_ distract me,” he murmured into her ear as he pulled her towards him.  “But, let me assure you that you _never_ put me off my stroke!”

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Thorin and the Sweat Lodge. In this episode, Thranduil notices the ingrained dirt from the forge under Thorin’s skin and suggests that they all get together to build an elven-style sauna to open and cleanse the pores. Good idea? Perhaps. But when were Thranduil’s ideas ever any good? And why do they so often involve chains and nudity, LOL?


	53. Thorin and the Sweat Lodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil tells Thorin all about Middle-earth saunas and Thorin and the lads decide it would be nice to be really clean. So, off they go to build one. Does their project meet with success? Well, you never know with this lot, do you, LOL? And it's typical of Thranduil to work chains and nudity into everything!

 

 .o00o.

All About Thorin……And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Sweat Lodge

 

Pt I

 

 “Goodness!  Your hands _are_ dirty!” said Thranduil, as Thorin handed him a slice of cake and a cup of tea.  Thorin nearly threw it at him.  Thranduil inviting himself into their house on a regular basis was beginning to become too much of a good thing.  Ever since that mancation when Thorin had done his very, VERY best to be nice to him, the elven king seemed to think that they had developed a special bond……..Not to mention that his ‘friendship’ with Thorin gave him an excuse to see Tauriel far more often than Thorin would like.

 

And now he was telling him his hands were dirty.  Thorin just grunted and ignored him.

 

But, when he was in bed with Tauriel that night, she grabbed his hands and examined them carefully.  “He was right, you know,” she said.

 

Thorin snatched them back from her and growled: “Well, I scrubbed them when I came in from the forge.  In fact, I had a good wash all over, so I don’t understand where this dirt is coming from.”

 

Tauriel then spent a very enjoyable five minutes examining her husband all over.  “I’m sorry,” she finally said with a sigh, “but I’m afraid the dirt is ingrained.  You smell clean but it’s still there, under the skin.”

 

“I’ll try soaking in a bath tomorrow,” said Thorin.   “But, in the meantime, how would you like to make love to a really dirty dwarf?”

 

.o00o.

 

The next day, as promised, Thorin had a soak.  But the dirt remained there, under the skin.  Thranduil popped in on his way home, just as Thorin was standing in a towel whilst Tauriel was examining his back and chest.

 

“Aha!” he commented.  “So the dirt extends further than his hands, then?”

 

“Thranduil!” snapped Thorin.  “Isn’t it about time that you cleared off home?”

 

But Thranduil just invited himself in, sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of tea.  “I suppose it’s all that work in the forge,” he commented.  “What you need is a sweat lodge.”

 

“What’s a sweat lodge?” asked Thorin.

 

“Well,” said the elven king, crooking his pinky on his tea-cup just so.  “Have you got five minutes?”

 

Thorin sat down opposite him and gestured for him to continue.

 

“If you want a sweat lodge, then you have to build a log cabin near a lake.  Then you equip it with a fire-box that holds a load of rocks and stones that get very hot.  The men using the cabin sit on benches dressed only in a towel – just like you at the moment – and then they pour a scoop of water on the stones which immediately turns into steam.  The steam makes everyone sweat and your pores are washed clean.  Then you dash outside and roll in the snow if it’s winter or jump in the lake in summer.”

 

“Sounds a bit masochistic to me,” grumbled Thorin.  “Just the thing that you might like but I wouldn’t.”

 

“But it’s worth it,” said Thranduil, “because you finish up nice and clean.”

 

Thorin considered for a bit, debating within himself whether he wanted to get involved in something like this but then he made up his mind.  “Pass me the laptop, Tauriel,” he muttered. “I think that Thranduil has just persuaded me to write another story.”  And he typed out the title:

 

Thorin and the Sweat Lodge

 

When Thranduil had explained what a sweat lodge was, Thorin gathered together the men of his family – Arion, Beren and Lostwithiel - plus the two hobbits, Bilbo and Frodo, at his forge.

 

“Tell them about it, Thranduil,” he said.  And so, the elven king explained what it was yet again.  “We had a couple of them in Mirkwood,” he added, “not because we felt we were dirty, of course,” (and he gave Thorin a side-long glance), “but because we thought it aided spiritual thought.”  Lostwithiel and Tauriel vaguely remembered the lodges but neither had ever used them.

 

“And if,” laughed Lostwithiel, “a sweat lodge is as successful as a mancation in helping us all find our inner spirituality, then I don’t really hold out much hope.”

 

“But, I just want to get rid of this dirt,” said Thorin.  “And I’m sure we could all do with a bit of pore cleansing.  Moreover, if it also means a few hours of quiet thought and contemplation, then I don’t mind that either.”

 

“And I suppose,” grinned Arion, “you’ve called us all together because you want us to help you build the thing.”

 

“Good guess,” laughed his father.  “But, I want to make it quite clear that, if you don’t help with it then you don’t get to use it.”

 

They all nodded in agreement and were happy to help because they were all curious enough to want to try it out.  And so, Thorin decided that the building work should start the following day.  “We’ll build it next to the lake just over the hill,” he said.  “We don’t need to camp out because it’s only a short distance away.”  Then, much to his relief, Lostwithiel volunteered to put Thranduil up until the job was done.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

The next morning, all seven of them set out for the lake so that the building programme could be initiated.  They dragged a lot of useful things to the site on Thorin’s new sled and, once they got there and had chosen an attractive spot, just about all of the group threw themselves into things: they chopped down trees and split the trunks and sawed things up in saw pits and dug foundations.  Thorin was exhausted and then he straightened up at one point and, wiping the sweat from his brow, suddenly realised that Thranduil didn’t appear to be working like the rest of them but was seated on a log, doodling with a stick in the sand.

 

“Thranduil!” he roared.

 

“Yes?” said the elven king politely, looking up languidly.  “Can I help you?”

 

“You can damn well help me by picking up that shovel and getting stuck in!” growled Thorin.

 

“Oh, but I _am_ helping,” Thranduil responded.

 

“In what way?” snarled the dwarf, feeling how all his own muscles were really aching.  “By exercising your backside on that log?”

 

“Language,” tutted the elf.  “We don’t all have to demonstrate our masculinity by chopping down trees or digging holes.”

 

“So, pray tell me,” said Thorin, with just the merest hint of sarcasm in his voice, “how you are demonstrating your masculinity.  I think we’d all like to do something similar because it looks so relaxing and effortless.”

 

“Well, it’s certainly not effortless,” retorted Thranduil indignantly.  “What I’m doing requires an awful lot of brain power and not everyone is capable of that.”  And he said this last with the merest flicker of an eyelash in Thorin’s direction.

 

“And you are doing….what?” snapped the dwarf.

 

“Interior design, of course,” replied Thranduil, an eyebrow raised in surprise.  “I would have thought that even _you_ would have worked that out.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “I honestly don’t think,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice under control, “that a log cabin whose interior consists of a few benches and a metal box full of stones needs much designing.”

 

“Shows how little you know about sweat lodges,” said the elven king calmly.  And then, with a haughty and dismissive wave of his hand, he said: “Now can you just stand aside - you’re in my light. I have ideas to attend to.”  And he turned his back on Thorin and continued with his drawing.

 

Thorin felt like picking him up and throwing him in the lake but he bit his lip and went back to work, taking his annoyance out on the tree that he was chopping up.  Thranduil was so irritating that perhaps they were all better off without his input.

 

.o00o.

 

Everyone except Thranduil worked very hard for a number of days and, finally, they were nearly up to the roof.  Thorin took Lostwithiel and Arion quietly to one side and said: “Look, I need to go back to my forge to make the firebox and the metal flue.  Someone has to be left in charge and I’ve chosen Arion – not because I think you’re not capable, ‘Thiel, but because I think that Thranduil would possibly manipulate you.”

 

The elf sighed and agreed.  “He was once my king and was also as a father to me – I feel too much respect for him to push him around – and he knows it.”

 

And so, Thorin went back to his forge and worked the bits of metal needed for the fire, leaving Arion in charge.  His son did a good job and, after two more days, not only was Thorin finished but the roof had been put on and the benches had been constructed within the lodge.  On the third day, they all escorted Thorin back up to the lake and helped him fit the firebox and the flue; and then they all cheered as the last pieces were put into place.  They felt a real sense of achievement.

 

But, there were still a few other things to sort out.  They levelled the ground around the lodge so that it sat on an attractive little plot; they found large, round stones by the side of the lake; and they cut down more trees and sawed them into logs for fuel which they stacked at one end of the lodge where the roof had been built with an especially wide overhang so that the wood could be kept dry.

 

“Come on, Thranduil!” snapped Thorin as they pulled the tree trunks from the forest for chopping up.  “At least help with this.”

 

“I can’t,” replied Thranduil.  “I have a special job to do.”

 

“Do tell,” snapped Thorin, wondering what excuse he would come up with this time.

 

“I have to go into the woods and collect birch branches,” he replied mysteriously.

 

“Birch branches?!” asked the dwarf.  “What on earth are those for?”

 

“You’ll find out,” said Thranduil vaguely.  “But let me assure you that they are a very important part of the sweat lodge ritual.”  And he drifted off into the surrounding trees.

 

Thorin wrinkled his brow and wondered about the “spiritual” side of the sweat lodge.  Perhaps birch branches, when burned, gave off fumes that affected the senses and helped you reach a higher plane of thought.  Well, he didn’t fancy that: he had had enough of Thranduil and his drugs and he thought he might stop him from putting them on the fire if that was what he tried to do.

 

But, at last, everything seemed to be finished.  The logs were stacked neatly and Thranduil returned with a great bunch of birch twigs which he placed on top of the logs.  He refused to elaborate on their purpose but just said, “You’ll see when the time comes.”

 

Then they all cheered and applauded themselves.  “Finished!” grinned Thorin.  “And all very nice it looks too.”

 

“Well, not quite finished,” interrupted the elven king.  “There is still my bit left to do.”

 

“ _Your_ bit!” exclaimed Thorin.  “You actually have a bit, do you?  I thought it was all _our_ bits.”

 

“I’ve already told you that I was doing the interior design,” said Thranduil indignantly.  “And now that the main structure is finished, it’s time for me to step in and complete the project.”

 

“But it is complete,” said the puzzled dwarf.  “What more is there left to do?”

 

“The frescos,” said Thranduil.  “What do you think I’ve been designing all week?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“Frescos?” they all asked with one voice.

 

“Yes, frescos,” repeated Thranduil waspishly, as if they were all deaf.  “A sweat lodge should be a place of peace but also of beauty.  As you sit there quietly and try to attain some kind of spiritual level of thought, you need something to focus on.  That’s why we cover at least two of the walls with frescos.”

 

“But,” said Bilbo, rough-hewn logs aren’t exactly a suitable surface for painting pictures on.”

 

“And that’s why,” said Thranduil smugly, “two of the walls will have to be plastered to provide a flat, white surface.”

 

“Is all this extra work really necessary?” sighed Thorin.  “Personally, I don’t feel an over-riding need for pictures on the wall to help me sweat.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” agreed the elven king faintly.  “That’s because you have so little understanding of what a sweat lodge is all about.  But, don’t worry.”  And a pained look of self-sacrifice passed over his face.  “It won’t involve you in extra work.  I shall do it all by myself.” 

 

Well, that provocative remark was enough to make Thorin say: “No, you won’t.  I shall come up here tomorrow and we shall do it together.  My plastering is quite good, I’ll have you know.”

 

And Thranduil smiled quietly to himself.

 

“So, what is the subject of your frescos?” asked Beren with interest.

 

The elf was pleased at the query.  “I shall need the two end walls plastered and I have decided that, on one, I shall paint a monstrous fire-drake – something that we all know about – and on the other, I shall paint a group of sacrificial victims:  naked maidens chained to a rock.”

 

Most of the others grinned appreciatively at the thought of sitting there, gently sweating, whilst gazing at a bevy of naked maidens and were just thinking that there might be a bit of jockeying for a position on the benches facing this mural rather than the one facing the dragon when Thorin snapped: “No naked maidens!”

 

“Goodness, Thorin,” said Thranduil with a raised eyebrow, “I had no idea that you were such a prude.”  And he tilted his head in an irritating and condescending way.

 

“Of course I’m not a prude!” growled the dwarf.  “But hasn’t it occurred to you that the ladies might like to have the occasional session up here and I don’t think they’ll want to sit staring at a gaggle of naked women.”

 

Thranduil shrugged.  “All right, then.  Just to please the ladies, let’s have a group of naked men chained to the rock instead.  I’m not fussy.”

 

“No!” snapped Thorin.  “No naked men, no naked women, no rocks and no chains!”

 

The rest of them looked rather disappointed and the elf all too quickly saw this.  He was reluctant to give up on the nudity and the chains and so came up with a further suggestion.  “If you don’t like that idea, let’s change the scenario completely.”  

 

Thorin nodded.  “Let’s use both walls to depict a scene in my dungeons back in Mirkwood.  On _this_ wall,” and he pointed dramatically to one end, “I can paint Tauriel, my captain of the guard, staring longingly at _that_ wall,” and he pointed to the other end wall and they all turned their heads, “where I can depict a naked Thorin chained up in one of my cells.”

 

“No-o-o-o!!” yelled Thorin.

 

“No?” asked Thranduil politely.  “Well, if you object to having Tauriel in the picture, then I could paint me on that wall, coming down to see my prisoner.  I have no qualms about being portrayed.”

 

Lostwithiel raised a hand.  “And will you be gazing longingly at Thorin too?” he asked with a grin.

 

“No!” yelled Thorin once more.  “I may have been in chains, but I certainly wasn’t naked.”

 

“Artistic licence,” said Thranduil as if he suspected that Thorin wouldn’t know what the phrase meant.

 

“Why this obsession with nudity and bondage?” snapped Thorin.

 

“Well,” mused the elf lord, “I must admit that I like manacles and chains; and naked figures are nearly always used in sweat lodges.  I suppose it reflects the nudity of those using the facilities.  It’s customary.  But, I suppose one doesn’t expect a dwarf to understand such things.”

 

Thorin was just about to raise his voice again when Frodo stepped forward.  “Do you know what I would really like?” he asked politely.

 

“No?” they all said curiously.

 

“I would like to imagine that there are no end walls.  And if Thranduil were to paint a scene of the view we would see if there were no end walls, I think that would be very lovely.”

 

They all murmured in agreement, albeit reluctantly.  No-one wanted an argument, even if they had fancied naked maidens or even a naked Thorin.  And they had to admit that Frodo’s idea was a very nice one.  One wall looked out towards the lake and the other towards the woods.  It would give the impression that they were sitting outside.

 

“All right,” grumbled Thranduil.  “If that’s what everyone wants.  But you don’t know what you’re missing.”

 

.o00o.

 

“And he told me that I didn’t know what I was missing,” repeated Thorin as he lay in bed with Tauriel that night.

 

“Well,” laughed Tauriel, “it means that the _ladies_ will never know what they’re missing, I should think.  I would have liked to have sat in that lodge, gazing at my naked husband on the wall whilst cleansing my pores.”

 

“But,” murmured Thorin huskily, “who wants a painting when you can have the real thing?”  And he reached over and turned down the lamp.

 

.o00o.

 

Only Thranduil and Thorin went together to do the plastering.  They took one wall each and put on a rough underlayer.  Thorin was quite impressed at the speed and skill with which Thranduil worked.  “It was something I enjoyed doing, back in Mirkwood,” he said.  They chatted together quite pleasantly as they plastered, talking about this and that and, as usual when this happened, Thorin always wondered why Thranduil was such good company when the two were on their own together but why things immediately fell to pieces when they were in the company of others.  The elven king then seemed to have an overwhelming urge to show off.

 

They had finished by lunchtime but the underlayer needed time to dry; and so, the elf did sketches of the scenes from either end of the two walls and, afterwards, they strolled back home together.  Then, the next day, they set out early, pulling a supply of lime plaster and the various pigments needed for the frescos on the sled.  They both concentrated on the same wall: Thorin would put up a small area of thin plaster and Thranduil would speedily paint that part of his fresco.  Once it was dry, the colours were fixed.  They worked well as a team and, by the end of the day, the wall facing out to the woods was finished.

 

“Excellent,” said Thorin and Thranduil looked pleased with himself.

 

They worked on the other wall the following day.  “You seem to spend a lot of time up our neck of the woods,” said Thorin, having a bit of a probe as he scraped on the plaster.

 

There was a pause before Thranduil finally said: “I find the company of your family and friends very pleasant.”  Thorin grinned to himself as he noticed that his own name had not got a mention.

 

“Doesn’t your son miss you when you’re away so much?” he pursued.

 

Another pause.  Then: “He and Gimli have such a close – relationship – that I sometimes feel excluded.”  And he concentrated on smoothing off the plaster.

 

Thorin thought of the warm intimacy that he shared with all his family and their partners and he suddenly felt very sorry for the elf lord.  Perhaps he sort of understood why Tauriel was so kind to him and he also tried to be kind to Thranduil for the rest of the day.

 

They stood back to look at the painting of the second wall.  “Even better,” said Thorin.

 

And then they went home.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The next day was the day of the trial run.  The women made up knapsacks full of picnic food and fluffy, white towels.  “And if you find it really enjoyable,” smiled Tauriel, “the ladies will give it a try.”

 

“Or we can have a mixed session,” grinned Lostwithiel.

 

“No,” said Thorin.

 

Then they trudged up the hill and down the other side to their very own sweat lodge.

 

When Thorin unlocked the door and they all trooped in, a gasp of admiration arose from the group.

 

“Absolutely beautiful,” murmured Frodo.  “I never dreamed it would look as good as this.”

 

“Stunning,” agreed Bilbo.

 

“I didn’t know you were such a good artist,” said Beren.

 

“Only when it comes to fresco work,” replied Thranduil modestly.  “It’s my thing.”

 

“It’s so real, I can almost smell the grass and hear the birds,” said Arion.

 

“Almost better than naked maidens,” laughed Lostwithiel.

 

Then they sat at one end and admired the view of the woods; and then they sat at the other and gazed out at the lake.

 

I do believe that Thranduil is blushing, thought Thorin.

 

Then they set to and got the fire going and placed a bucket of water with a ladle next to it.  Much sooner than expected, the room began to get very hot and they modestly found a private spot outside where they could strip off their clothes and then they wrapped their towels around themselves and sat on the benches.

 

After a time, Thranduil began to splash water on the hot stones and it soon became very steamy.  Thorin wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not but, as long as it got him clean, then he had achieved the object of the exercise. 

 

They all sat quietly, gazing through the steam at the beautiful frescos and suddenly, Lostwithiel grinned.  He was facing the one with the lake and, through the haze, he could just about make out a tiny figure emerging from the trees and running towards the water.  He could see a fine bare behind, some minuscule tattoos and flowing black locks.  The elf nearly spluttered.  Naughty Thranduil: he had managed to work in a naked Thorin after all!  But at least he wasn’t in chains.  And Lostwithiel wondered how long it would be before the dwarf noticed.  But, the figure was now set in the plaster and, unless Thorin was prepared to knock a lump out of the wall, it was there for all time.

 

They were all absolutely bathed in sweat and were beginning to feel uncomfortable when Thranduil finally said: “Had enough?  When you feel like it, just drop your towels and run for the lake.”

 

The thought of a nice, cool lake was very tempting but everyone looked at each other and no-one fancied being the first one to drop their towel.

 

“Looks like you need a bit of encouragement,” grinned Thranduil.  “Time for the ritual of the birch twigs, I think.”  And then he dropped his own towel and strode from the room, returning almost immediately with bundles of twigs which he handed out to his bemused audience.

 

“Stand up!” he barked in an authoritarian voice and they all obeyed him, albeit rather cautiously.  You never knew with Thranduil.  “Turn around!  Good!  Now drop those towels!”  And they did.

 

“Ow!” yelled Thorin.  “Stop it!” he cried as Thranduil began beating him with the bundle of birch twigs.  “What on earth are you doing?!” 

 

“Improving your circulation before you jump in the water,” replied the elf lord calmly.

 

And suddenly, Bilbo was giggling and was thrashing Arion and Lostwithiel began to hit Beren; and, before long, the whole room was alive with yelps, giggles and rustling branches.

 

Thorin was the first to make a break for it.  He flung open the door and ran for the lake with Thranduil hitting him all the way down to the shore line.  The freezing impact as he fell into the water took his breath away but they were soon all splashing and laughing and when they finally emerged from the water they felt completely alive and exhilarated.

 

They wrapped their towels around themselves once more and got out the picnic food.

 

“I think you enjoyed that birch thrashing far too much, Thranduil,” said Thorin.

 

“Of course I did,” said the elven king.  “That really is the best thing about the whole experience.”  And they all had a good giggle.

 

When they had finally extinguished the fire and had locked up and were on their way home, they all felt very tired and totally relaxed.

 

“You’re looking very clean, Thorin,” said Thranduil and the dwarf held up his hand and inspected it.

 

“Why, so I am,” he laughed.  “Tauriel will be pleased.”

 

.o00o.

 

And Tauriel was, indeed, very pleased that night.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so clean,” she said.  And she ran her hands down his back and squeezed his round buttocks.  “And your skin is so soft and smooth!  What on earth have you boys been doing to get skin like this?  It’s amazing!”

 

“Oh, you know: this and that,” said Thorin, grinning into her hair.  “This and that.”

 

.o00o.

 

_(Tauriel laughed as Thorin closed the laptop.  “Now I know what ‘this and that’ means,” she giggled.  “Honestly, what you boys get up to when you’re let out on your own.”_

_“But the end result was very good, wasn’t it?” he said, turning around and kissing her.  “Perhaps you girls should pay a visit to the sweat lodge so that your husbands can reap the benefit of a good thrashing with a bundle of birch twigs.”_

_“I wouldn’t mind reaping a bit more benefit at this precise moment,” she murmured, and she pulled him to his feet and led him to their bed.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the New Friend. This one is slightly more serious than my more recent stories. Tauriel has made a new friend who has a problem: they all do, don’t they? But this problem is particularly distressing and Tauriel begs her husband to help her. I expect that soft-hearted Thorin will do his best, as usual.


	54. Thorin and the New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not such a laugh-a-minute this one. But, Thorin is his usual, adorable self, lying awake at night and wondering how he can resolve the problems of his wife’s new friend. Strangely enough, the inspiration for this story was The Little Mermaid even if, superficially, you might not see an immediate resemblance.

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the New Friend

 

Pt I

 

“I’ve made a new friend,” said Tauriel.

 

“Have you really, my love?” murmured Thorin, not in the least bit interested in what his wife was saying.  Of much more immediate concern was how to get her night gown off when she wasn’t helping but was lying there thinking of other things.

 

“If you would just lift your hip a bit there, dearest…..that’s right….and bend your elbow there….perfect.” 

 

Thorin finally let out a sigh.  Success!  She felt so beautiful and the very best thing in his life was to be snuggling up to Tauriel, stroking her perfect skin and tangling his fingers in her glorious hair.  Ahhh!

 

“You’re not listening, are you?” she suddenly snapped.  And she pushed him away and turned towards him on the pillow.  A cold draught blew between their parted bodies and Thorin felt bereft.  “Oh, but I am, I am!” he hastily reassured her, reaching for her warmth once more.

 

But Tauriel stayed his hand: “So, tell me what I’ve just said.”

 

Thorin desperately scrabbled about in his memory: “Umm, you have a new friend?  You must tell me all about her, my love.”  And she relaxed and allowed him to bury his head in her neck.  He wasn’t really concentrating again – not on what she was saying, anyway.  She felt so very, very good and he just wanted to burrow into her still further.  And so it came as a bit of a shock when she suddenly wrenched herself away from him and got out of bed, grabbing her robe as she went.

 

“Where are you going?” he shouted after her.

 

“To write a story about my new friend,” she said over her shoulder.

 

“What?  In the middle of the night?”  And he scrambled after her.

 

“Yes. She’s so unhappy that I feel I need to sort things out immediately.  Make me a cup of tea, won’t you?”

 

Thoroughly deflated, in more ways than one, Thorin grumbled his way into the kitchen whilst Tauriel got out the laptop and typed:

 

Thorin and the New Friend

 

“I’ve made a new friend,” smiled Tauriel, bustling around the dining area and laying a clean, white tablecloth.  Then she hurried out to the kitchen and returned with a plate of cakes.

 

“They look good,” said Thorin, reaching out to take one.  He had been working for hours in the garden and was feeling peckish.

 

“Don’t,” responded his wife, slapping away his hand .  “These are for my special friend.”

 

“Well, I hope your special friend isn’t some handsome elf lord,” grunted Thorin, settling back in a fireside chair.

 

“No, it’s a beautiful elf _lady_ ,” laughed Tauriel.

 

“That’s all right then,” said Thorin.  “So, can I join you for tea and cake?  I promise you I shall be more interested in the cake than the beautiful stranger.”

 

“Hmm,” said Tauriel.  “I shall only let you join us if you promise not to look startled when you first meet her.”

 

“Oh, _that_ beautiful?” laughed the dwarf.  “All right, I promise not to drool.”

 

Tauriel suddenly looked serious.  “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, Thorin.  I met her a few days ago when I was visiting Evanuil and Favreen down at the elven tree-houses.  Their home is looking so nice at the moment, you know.  Tagrith is a relative and is moving into the area from up the coast – from Elrond’s court.  It will be lovely to have someone new around.”

 

“Are you sure you want this gorgeous woman living next door to me?” teased Thorin.

 

“Don’t laugh, Thorin,” continued Tauriel.  “She has this problem, you see……..”

 

But before she could get any further, someone knocked at the door and Thorin rose to open it.

 

“Don’t react!” Tauriel called softly but urgently across the room as the dwarf’s hand went to the latch.  And, as soon as Thorin opened the door, he understood what she was going on about.

 

Tagrith was tall and graceful with very attractive silvery hair.  “Hello, you must be Thorin,” she said in a beautiful, melodious voice.

 

“Don’t react!” Tauriel had said and Thorin was trying his best.  But, it was very difficult because, marring her beautiful features, was a long scar which ran from her lower jaw, across her cheek, nose and forehead, and then finally disappeared into her hairline.

 

Thorin smiled at her.  “Tagrith?” he said.  “Tauriel’s waiting for you.  Please come in.”

 

The next hour or so was quite delightful and Thorin could see why Tauriel thought she had found a new friend.  Tagrith was charming, articulate and funny – she really made him laugh, something that few could do.  She had a kindly manner and she liked to gently reach out and touch people as she talked which made the pair of them feel as if they had known her forever.

 

The scar was distracting at first but, within the hour, Thorin was so taken with Tagrith that he hardly noticed it any more.  Then, as they sat sipping their cups of tea after a bit of a gorge on Tauriel’s cakes, Tagrith suddenly looked up and said to him: “I suppose you’re wondering how I got this scar?”  And her slender fingers moved up to touch her face.

 

Thorin’s first reaction was to politely deny any curiosity but, then, that seemed very silly considering the size of it; and so he said quietly: “Yes, you’re right.  To be honest, I _was_ wondering and I would be honoured if you would share your story with me.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“Well,” said Tagrith, “I fought in the War of the Ring, you know.  I lived at Rivendell, on the fringes of the action.  But, one day, my troop was unexpectedly ambushed by a horde of orcs and wargs.  The wargs were the biggest problem and, just as we thought we were winning, one grabbed hold of me.”

 

Thorin automatically reached out to her and placed a comforting hand on her arm.  He knew what it was like to be picked up and thrown around by a warg and his ribs ached at the memory of it.

 

“Yes, I know,” said Tagrith, placing her hand gently over his.  “Tauriel told me about it.”

 

“I thought I was going to die,” Thorin murmured.  “And I would have done if Gandalf hadn’t been there.”

 

“I thought I was going to die too,” she replied.  “It seized me by the head and threw me up in the air.  If I hadn’t been protected by a chain mail coif which covered my head and shoulders, it would have ripped me apart.  The scar is the marks of its teeth.”

 

“How did you survive?” asked Thorin in amazement.

 

“Because we won and because my friends managed to get me to the Grey Havens in time to catch one of the departing ships.”

 

“Same here,” said Thorin.  “I was mortally wounded in an orc attack the day after my daughter’s wedding and my friends and family got me on a ship just in time.”  All three held hands for a moment as they remembered and Tauriel looked white and strained.

 

“I began to recover almost immediately but the scar on my face refused to heal completely,” she continued.  “The physicians reckon it’s because of the poison from the warg’s fangs.  It wasn’t a clean wound.”

 

“Ah, that explains it,” said Thorin.  “The wound I received at the Battle of the Five Armies has left an ugly scar.”  And he pulled up his shirt to show her.  “The orc’s spear tip was doubtless poisoned too.”

 

“We’re so lucky,” said Tagrith.  “I cannot complain that I have been left disfigured.  I’m just so glad to be alive.”

 

“Time for another cup of tea, I think,” murmured Tauriel, getting up and going to the kitchen.

 

“Thank you, Thorin, for not reacting to my appearance when you opened the door,” the elf said with a smile.  “I knew straight away I’d be able to talk to you about it.  Tauriel told me I would.”

 

“Do you get many bad reactions, then?” the dwarf asked.

 

Tagrith sighed.  “All the time.  Some elves get over it quickly enough and learn to tolerate me but others can’t look me in the eye, even months later.”

 

“’Tolerate’ you!” Thorin exploded.  “I don’t have a very good opinion of most elves – except Tauriel, of course.”  And he grinned up at Tauriel as she came back into the room.  “But to ‘tolerate’ you is beyond awful.  I’m not surprised that my wife is keen to know you and be called a friend: you’re very beautiful, you know, in so many ways.”

 

Tagrith blushed.  “You’re too kind,” she said.  “I wish that everyone felt like you.  But elven culture admires outward beauty and I’m afraid I no longer fit into that category.  I doubt if I’ll ever find a partner,” she added sadly.

 

“Rubbish!” said Thorin, “In less than an hour of talking to you, I’d forgotten that scar.  Don’t be too cast down about your chances.”  But, although he tried to cheer her, he felt deep down that she was right; and, when he remembered all his years amongst the elves, fighting for acceptance because he looked different, he felt angry and despondent.

 

“Come on,” Tagrith laughed.  “Let’s talk about happier things.”  And she and Tauriel began to plan a picnic on the beach the following day.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel met up with Tagrith down by the harbour the next day and then she showed her how lovely the beaches with their white sands and dunes and sweet-smelling pine trees were a little way up the coast.  They settled down beneath the trees and spread their picnic cloth with all the goodies that they had brought with them, laughing and chattering together.  And Tauriel thought how lovely it was to have a proper girl-friend at last.

 

Suddenly, Tagrith stopped talking and stared fixedly at a spot where the waves were pounding on the shore.  The sea was magnificent today, breaking across a reef of sharp rocks, the surf leaving a lacy trail across the sand.  “What’s that?” she said.  The two of them hastened to a dark bundle that lay half in, half out of the water and, to their horror, they found it was a body.  “An elf!” gasped Tagrith, and they dragged him out of the water to safety higher up the beach.

 

He was young and handsome but with a nasty bruise on his temple.  “I think he’s all right!” said Tagrith, bending over him and touching his face gently.  For a moment, he stirred, his eyes fluttering open briefly and fixing themselves on Tagrith’s face.  But, then he fell into unconsciousness again.

 

The elf women were strong and the harbour area not too far away.  And so, they abandoned their picnic food and managed to carry him between them in search of help.  By good fortune, the first person to see them was Thorin.  He was sitting on the harbour wall, looking in the direction of the beach and waiting for them.  He had become restless at home and so had decided to meet up with his wife and her friend on the shore so that he could accompany them both on their return journey.

 

Now he saw their struggles and ran to meet them.  He lifted the elf in his powerful arms whilst Tauriel raced ahead to get the keys of Bilbo’s old shack from Frodo and Tagrith went to find a physician.  They placed him gently on Bilbo’s bed and Frodo brought in a few basic supplies.  The physician came hurrying soon and the rest of them hung around anxiously.

 

“It’s Palatin, one of Thranduil’s retainers!” the physician exclaimed.  “What on earth was he doing lying on that beach?”  But, after an examination, he thought that the bruise was the cause of the problem.  “He’s hit his head on something,” he concluded.  “I think he’ll come to quite soon and that he should be all right.”  Then he left with instructions that he should be called if they were concerned about the elf lord’s progress.

 

Tagrith sat by the bed and held Palatin’s hand whilst the other three bustled around, making a little food and drink.  “What would we do without Bilbo’s old shack?” laughed Thorin.

 

Slowly, the elf lord regained consciousness and, as his eyes opened once more, they rested upon Tagrith and never left her face.  “Thank you,” he whispered, “for rescuing me.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Palatin felt powerfully drawn to his saviour.  Her silver hair shone in a gorgeous halo against the light and her voice was so exquisite that he just wanted to lie there, listening to her forever.  She was so gentle and kind and he held on tightly to her hand, refusing to let it go.  They talked quietly for hours and Thorin and Tauriel exchanged pleased glances.

 

When he finally fell asleep, Tagrith rose from his bedside with shining eyes.  “He’s wonderful!” she said.  “And he didn’t mention my scar once.”

 

“There,” replied Tauriel, giving her a hug.  “We knew you’d find someone.”

 

Frodo went home whilst the two women bedded down on the sofas with Thorin on the floor.  It had been a very interesting day.  The trouble was, they were all making assumptions about the situation when not all the cards had been laid out on the table.

 

.o00o.

 

Palatin was keeping something from them all: he couldn’t focus properly and everything was a bit of a blur.  He had been struck on the head by a rock as his rowing boat had foundered on the reef and he was assuming that it was this which had caused the problem.  He didn’t want to worry his rescuers, especially the delightful Tagrith, and he had decided that he wouldn’t mention it unless he still had problems when he woke up in the morning. 

 

He had explained to Tagrith that he practised his rowing all along the coast nearly every day because he enjoyed it so much and, in fact, he was one of those retainers who helped to row Thranduil’s barge.  He actually liked Thranduil (at which Thorin rolled his eyes) and so a message had been sent to the elven king to inform him of the accident.

 

Although his throat was raw and his chest felt sore and his head still throbbed, Palatin went off to sleep that night happy in the thought that he had met a wonderful elven woman.  He had loved spending time with her that evening and he just couldn’t wait for his eyesight to improve so that he could see her face properly.

 

Thorin was first up the next morning and brought him some tea and toast.  Palatin stirred and rubbed his eyes.  “Oh good,” he said.  “I can see properly now.  I was a bit worried last night.”

 

“What!” exclaimed Thorin; and his heart turned cold.

 

“My sight was very blurry yesterday and I didn’t want to worry anyone by complaining.  But it’s fine this morning.  “And,” he grinned, “I just can’t wait to see Tagrith properly.”

 

Thorin sat down by the elf’s bedside and knew that he had to prepare him for Tagrith’s scar.  He gritted his teeth and said: “Tagrith is a lovely person, you know.”

 

“Yes,” said Palatin, “you don’t need to tell me.  We got on so well together and I could make out her beautiful silver hair and, of course, I could hear that melodic voice.”

 

“But, you see,” said Thorin quietly, “she was attacked by a warg and her face is badly scarred.  It refuses to heal.”

 

Palatin looked appalled.  And then he whispered: “But I am an admirer of beautiful things.  I just don’t think I can cope.”

 

“She is very drawn to you,” continued the dwarf, “and before you knew about the scar, you were obviously very drawn to her.  Why should a mark on the face make such a big difference to the way you feel about someone?”

 

There was a pause and then the elf finally said: “Perhaps it doesn’t make a difference to you but I know it will make a difference to me.  I would prefer not to see her again and would rather that you kept her away from me.”

 

Thorin was shocked but, before he could argue Tagrith’s case any further, the elf woman pulled back the curtain of the bedroom alcove and came in with a happy smile.

 

“How are you this morning?” she asked.

 

Palatin drew back against the pillow, a look of horror on his face.  Tagrith stared at him for a long, confused moment and then her eyes filled up with tears and she fled from the room.  Thorin flung the elf lord the filthiest look in his repertoire and then hastened after her.  She was crying quietly out in the garden and Thorin took her gently in his comforting arms.

 

“I don’t understand,” she sobbed.  “Why is he so horrified this morning when he wasn’t last night?  I truly thought we had made a connection and that my scar didn’t matter.”

 

“He couldn’t see properly after the accident,” murmured Thorin, “but his sight was fine this morning.”

 

She pushed Thorin gently away and dried her eyes.  “Thank you for your kindness,” she said, “but I need to sit on my own somewhere and come to terms with what has happened.”  And she went off to sit under the trees in a neighbouring orchard.

 

Thorin felt close to doing Palatin a major injury but Tauriel came out then with a worried look on her face.  “Where’s Tagrith?” she asked and Thorin had to tell her what had happened.

 

Then, before Tauriel could run after her, Thranduil arrived, riding one horse and leading another.

 

“Well,” thought Thorin, “at least he deserves some credit for worrying enough about a retainer that he has come for him in person.”

 

Thranduil brought the horses to a halt and looked down his nose at Thorin, as usual.  “I might have known that you were mixed up in this,” he said.

 

“And aren’t you lucky he was,” snapped Tauriel.  “I was expecting you to thank my husband, Tagrith and me for rescuing Palatin from the sea!”

 

Thranduil gave her a sharp look.  “Tagrith?  You mean the elf from Elrond’s court with an ugly scar on her face?  What is her involvement?  I hope she hasn’t been nursing him.  That face of hers is enough to give anyone a set-back.”  And he let out a sneering laugh.

 

Tauriel gave the elf king a long, disgusted stare.  Then she nodded towards the shack.  “He’s in there,” she said.  “Just remove him from our sight.  We’ve got better things to do.”  And she swept off to the orchard with a glowering Thorin following closely behind.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

This time it was Thorin who was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, whilst Tauriel tried to distact him.  “Come on,” she said.  “Take your night shirt off and stop thinking about Tagrith.  There’s nothing you can do.”

 

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” he muttered.  “That was all so cruel.”

 

“Yes, it was,” murmured his wife, gently kissing him and stroking his braids.  “You’re so lovely, Thorin, that I think if I had a scar, it wouldn’t make any difference to you.”

 

“But, we’ll never know,” he sighed, “because you have been perfect and unblemished from the very beginning.  However, I do know that just because Rose had scars on her back, I didn’t love her any the less – and nor did Telbarad.  I think I might have killed him if he had abandoned her after seeing her back – but he didn’t – and all of us accepted that those scars were part of what made Rose the beautiful person she was.”  And he and Tauriel lay quietly in each other’s arms for a while, remembering their lovely adopted daughter who was no more.

 

Then: “There must be something I can do to help her,” he muttered under his breath.  But Tauriel was asleep and Thorin was left to think long into the night upon the matter.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, Thorin seemed to have cheered up considerably.  He got dressed, had his breakfast early and then set off down the hill.  “Where are you off to?” shouted Tauriel after him.

 

“To see the lads,” he shouted back.  Well, one of them, at least, he thought.  The ‘lads’ were Tauriel’s old troop, those elves who had manned the outpost of Ered Luin.  Since arriving in the Undying Lands, some had dispersed but a few were still down in the harbour area, living in the tree houses they had been allotted on first disembarking.  And, since Thorin was after one of them in particular, he was very pleased to find Borondin at home.

 

Borondin was exquisitely beautiful.  When Tauriel had first met him, his lovely hair had fallen down as far as his waist and, much to his distress, she had made him cut it to shoulder-length.  He was such a young cockerel, strutting around in totally unsuitable silks and satins, but within only a few months, she had knocked them all into shape – including Borondin – and they had finished up a very fine group of sturdy, strapping soldiers.

 

Now that he was no longer a soldier, Borondin’s one concession to civilian life was to grow his hair once more.  But his clothing was sober and practical and his manner was kindly and pragmatic.

 

“Thorin!” he exclaimed as he opened the door, genuinely pleased to see his former weapons master.  And he welcomed him inside and poured him a glass of wine.  “How can I help you?” he asked.

 

“I know this might seem like a personal question,” said Thorin, looking at the elf lord seriously, “but I have my reasons and so please bear with me.”

 

“Fire away,” was the response.

 

“I want you to tell me all the details of that time when you were out on patrol and were attacked by a pack of wargs.”

 

Borondin looked surprised but he willingly sat back to tell the dwarf all about that especially unpleasant moment in his past.  Like Thorin and like Tagrith, the beast had seized him in its jaws and had tossed him around until his friends had come to his rescue.

 

“You were quite badly injured, weren’t you, if I remember?” said Thorin.

 

“Yes, I was,” replied the elf lord.  “The creature’s jaws left appalling scars upon my chest and back.”

 

“And now comes the personal bit,” said Thorin.  “How did you feel about those scars?”

 

“Dreadful,” came the honest reply.  “I was deeply ashamed of them and tried hard to keep them covered up so that no-one would see them.  I suppose I just thought that when I reached the Undying Lands, all my hurts would be healed.  And, yes, they were – all except those particular scars.  The physician said that this was because of the poison in the wounds which could not be counteracted.”

 

“And so, are you still ashamed of them?” asked Thorin, leaning forward in his chair.

 

“Well, I don’t exactly like them,” said the elf with a wry grin.  “But I have learned to accept them and to understand that they are only marks on my skin and don’t make me repugnant even if some stupid elves flinch when they see them.”

 

“I want you to help me – and a friend of mine,” said the dwarf.  “Can you pop up to the forge tomorrow afternoon?  This friend was one of Elrond’s soldiers who was attacked and bitten in the face by a warg.  Those scars haven’t faded either.”  Thorin sighed.  “People are repulsed , of course, and I thought that, perhaps, you could offer some sympathy and advice.”

 

Borondin was appalled at the thought of a facial scar and the reaction that this must cause.  “Of course I’ll come,” he said.

 

Thorin strolled back up the hill whistling.

 

.o00o.

 

“I’ve invited Borondin over tomorrow afternoon,” Thorin told Tauriel.  “I thought it would be nice if you invited Tagrith as well.  You know, old soldiers together.”

 

Tauriel looked doubtful.  “I’m wondering if she’s up to meeting any more new people at the moment,” she said.

 

“Well,” said Thorin, “you know what they say about falling off a horse and how you should get straight back on again……”

 

And, finally, Tauriel had to agree.  “But I shan’t tell her that Borondin will be here or she may not come.”

 

And so Tagrith turned up for a nice quiet afternoon with her friends and found an extraordinarily handsome elf lord there as well.  She nearly walked out again.  But Tauriel took her firmly by the arm and introduced then both to each other.

 

Borondin smiled warmly.   “Well, this is a surprise,” he laughed.  “Thorin told me he was inviting an old soldier and the old soldier turns out to be a beautiful young woman.”  And when Borondin tried hard to look past the scar, there was, indeed, a very lovely woman hiding behind it.

 

“Please,” she said bluntly, “you don’t have to flatter.  Everyone can see this ugly scar on my face.”

 

“Who’s flattering?” he grinned.  “Or are you trying to make this a competition?  My scars are bigger than your scars, you know.”

 

“What scars?” she asked, looking puzzled.

 

“These scars,” he said, pulling up his shirt and turning around so that everyone got a good view.  They covered his chest and his back in great ragged gouges and were absolutely horrific.

 

Tagrith gasped and raised her hand to her lips.  “And before you ask,” laughed the elf lord, “yes, it really hurt.”

 

“A warg?” she asked, her eyes filling with sympathetic tears.

 

And Thorin and Tauriel slipped from the room to make the tea and set the cakes out on a cake stand.

 

When they returned, the two elves were deep in conversation about their experiences.  So absorbed were they in each other’s stories that they reached for their cups and their plates automatically and hardly noticed that they had worked their way through a whole offering of cakes.

 

“And my physician told me that rubbing camomile into the scar every day might help it fade,” Tagrith was saying.

 

“Oh, we grow that in our garden,” said Tauriel.  “Why don’t you show her around, Borondin, and see if you can find some.  I’ll use it to make up a cream, if you like.”

 

When the pair had gone happily out, Tauriel looked at her smirking husband and said, “You naughty matchmaker, you!  I think you may have pulled it off!”

 

“Of course I’ve pulled it off,” said Thorin smugly, “and not just because they can spend all day showing off their scars to each other.  They’re a perfect fit: two lovely, lonely people looking for a soul mate.  And they’d better invite us to the wedding!”

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, Tauriel,” sighed Thorin as his wife closed the laptop.  “You write such romantic stories.  What a wonderful ending for the two of them!”_

_“They both deserve it,” said the elf, turning to kiss him.  “Just as you deserve a few romantic moments back in bed for helping to sort everything out.  The dawn’s still a few hours away.”_

_“Those two might deserve each other,” said the dwarf, “but I still don’t understand what it is I’ve done to deserve you.”  And he bent down and swept her up in his arms._

_“Me neither,” giggled Tauriel._

_Thorin paused and furrowed his brow en route to the bedroom._

_“Now, does that mean that you don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you either?  Or does it mean that, in a similar way, you don’t deserve me?  Or does that mean……?”_

_“Thorin, just shut up for once, won’t you?” she said._

_“Yes , my love.  Anything you say, my love.”  And he kicked shut the door to their room.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next story: Thorin and the Market Stall. The Oakenshields decide to set up a market stall and have to provide the goods to sell on it. Some of the stuff they set out on their table is quite conventional but that naughty Lostwithiel and, rather surprisingly, our Tauriel, come up with some rather racy products that sell like hot cakes and set quite a few tongues wagging. Another funny story to add to the collection!


	55. Thorin and the Market Stall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, market stalls sound kind of boring, but I had a lot of fun writing this one. I hope you have a bit of a giggle when you find out what Tauriel and Lostwithiel have set out on their tables!

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..and Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Market Stall

 

Pt I

 

Thorin was restless and couldn’t sleep.  It was the early hours of the morning and he was bored with just lying there.  He nudged Tauriel gently and whispered: “Are you asleep, my love?”  Then, when there was no response, he nudged her more firmly and asked the question more loudly.

 

She stirred this time and asked sleepily: “Is it time to get up yet?”

 

“Not yet,” he replied, pulling her towards him.  “But I thought that, since we’re both awake, we could have a cuddle and a chat.”

 

“Mmm,” said Tauriel and yawned, then buried her head in his neck.

 

“Are you going to the harbour market tomorrow?” he asked, desperately trying to think of something to keep her awake.

 

Not a good choice.  The little market that was held twice a week down in the harbour area was an extraordinarily boring one, selling and bartering goods of the most basic kind.  And when Tauriel thought about the effort involved in trudging down the hill and then back up again in the hot sun just for a meagre basket of fruit, it merely encouraged her to nod off on his shoulder.

 

Thorin tutted and prodded her again.  “Must you go back to sleep in the middle of a conversation?” he complained.

 

“Sorry,” muttered Tauriel, but then started to snore gently.

 

Thorin gave in.  He compensated himself a little by caressing her soft body and running his fingers through her silken hair, but, otherwise, he was left to ponder the question of the local market all by himself.

 

.o00o.

 

The following morning, the couple got up and readied themselves for breakfast with Lostwithiel and Poppy.  It was always very comfortable when it was their turn on the rota to prepare breakfast, because they had the most spacious home.  They got the best-cooked meals at Bilbo’s hobbit hole, the most enthusiastic attempts at Rosie and Beren’s and the cosiest ones at Arion and Mary Sue’s pretty cottage.  But all of them most loved to have breakfast with Thorin and Tauriel (except Thorin and Tauriel) because the forge was what ‘home’ was all about.

 

Thorin was still thinking about the market for some reason when he reached his daughter’s house and he brought up the subject as they sat around the table.

 

“It’s really hopeless, isn’t it?” he opined.  And everyone was inclined to agree.

 

“It’s because no-one really needs to sell stuff to survive,” said Lostwithiel.  “Everyone is self-sufficient in their own plot with produce from their gardens; and they can always fish and hunt or search for wild fruits, nuts or mushrooms in the woods.  The only reason we have a market at all, it seems to me, is because people are bored or because they set up a stall as a sort of public service.”

 

“I mean, father,” added Arion, “why do you still make things in your forge?  You don’t need the money and, like everyone else, you only charge a basic fee.  You do it because you love creating things, just like Mary Sue loves to create jewellery.  It’s not as though elves are short of beautiful things.”

 

“And,” said Poppy, “if you can’t make or grow things yourself, you just have a bit of a barter with a neighbour.”

 

“But I do miss the shops in the Grey Havens,” admitted Tauriel.  I know our lives are very simple here but sometimes I just yearn to look in a window and see something different or unusual that I really, really want to buy.”

 

“So,” laughed Beren, “why don’t we set up a market stall ourselves and, if it’s a success, it might encourage others to be more imaginative.”

 

A very lively conversation followed this suggestion as they discussed a very long market table with contributions from every member of the family.

 

“Well, it’s obvious what you and Mary Sue will provide,” said Arion to his father.  “Creations from your forge.”

 

And Thorin agreed that he would like to forge weapons – not because they were needed in the Undying Lands but because the elves loved a well-crafted sword to wear on their hip in a ceremonial sort of way on special occasions.

 

“And if Thorin will help me, I would love to make bits of jewellery,” said Mary Sue.

 

Poppy was the artistic one and they remembered the lovely certificates that she had produced for the winners of the Games they had organised.

 

“I could decorate the edges of plain paper with flowers so that people had pretty stationery to write upon or produce boxes of visiting cards or perhaps even paint watercolours and frame them.”

 

They all turned towards Tauriel and everyone urged her to make clothes because this is what she had done for them all their lives.

 

“Perhaps I’ll stick with clothes for women and children,” she said.  “The elven tailors are far better than I am at sewing outfits for men.”

 

Arion, Beren and Rosie were looking a bit downcast.  “I don’t think we’ve got any skills like the rest of you,” said Beren.

 

“Well, you and Arion are very good at gardening,” encouraged Thorin.  “Why don’t you two sell your surplus fruit and vegetables.”

 

“That’s a bit boring,” sighed Arion with a grimace.  “That’s what most stalls sell down at the market already.”

 

“But, all of their produce is pretty standard: potatoes, carrots, onions, apples.  You two grow a wider selection than that,” Lostwithiel pointed out.  “I’m sure many elves will get quite excited when you show them what else can be grown to tickle their taste buds.”

 

“And how about this, Rosie?” added Tauriel excitedly.  “You’ve become such a good cook.  You must take some of your cakes and pies down there to sell.  But to make things even more intriguing and to boost the sales of the fruit and vegetables, why don’t you cook things using Arion’s and Beren’s produce and sell recipes along with each item?”

 

“Then once they know how to cook things,” laughed Rosie, “they won’t bother to buy mine.”

 

“Yes, they will,” countered her grandmother, “because, basically, people are lazy.”

 

Thorin turned to Lostwithiel: “So, that only leaves you.  Have you got skills I know nothing about?”

 

“Yes,” said the elf.  “Actually, I have…….which is why I want to borrow the laptop so that I can write the story.”

 

Thorin snorted: “I’m not too sure about that.”

 

“Well, you and Tauriel have written so many of the stories just lately that I think it’s time for someone else to have a go.”  And, since the others were broadly in agreement, there was nothing for it but for Thorin to fetch the laptop from the forge and pass it over to his son-in-law.

 

Thorin and the Market Stall

 

_(….. typed Lostwithiel, with a grin on his face.  And Thorin wondered if he would regret his decision.)_

Pt II

 

When the Oakenshield family finally decided to set up some stalls at the market, they busily got themselves organised.  Arion was sent down to the harbour to talk with Ellandel, the elf who administered the area, and he was delighted that such a large group was willing to add the products of their skills to the limited number of stallholders who were currently on show.

 

“Your presence will doubtless draw more customers,” he said, “and should whip up a bit of competition – even, perhaps, encourage other families to follow suit.  Life can be a bit monotonous here and these new stalls will give people something to do on a wet weekday afternoon.”

 

In fact, if the day was wet, cold or snowy, the stalls were set up inside the Moot Hall; otherwise the market took place on the stretch of grass outside.

 

Back at the top of the hill, they all set to work, with even Bilbo joining in with suggestions for recipes to Rosie and a promise of help with the cooking once she was ready.

 

Thorin sang as he worked in his forge and Tauriel smiled to hear him.  It had been a long time since he had sounded so cheerful.  He was making a couple of swords in the style of Orcrist and although he would have liked to have made dwarven axes or swords, his common sense told him there would be no buyers for them and he had to be practical.  That night he tumbled into bed with her and she enjoyed the lively enthusiasm of his love-making.

 

“You should make swords more often,” she whispered.  “I could get used to this.”

 

“You’d better hope for a constant stream of customers, then,” he laughed, as he swept her beneath him once more.

 

During the day, Poppy was to be found out on the hills with her paints and the easel that Lostwithiel had made for her.  She produced several very attractive watercolours – lengthy vistas down to the harbour – which her husband framed, and then she spent the evenings creating pretty notepaper and calling cards, plus boxes to put them in which she tied up with pink ribbon.  “This is all very lovely,” said her mother during one visit.  “I never fully appreciated how skilled you were becoming.”  And Poppy looked smugly pleased with herself.

 

Mary Sue worked alongside Thorin in the forge.  Together, they drew up some designs for a number of pieces of gold jewellery, simple yet elegant, and Thorin was always on hand to help her with the tricky bits.

 

Arion and Beren tended their gardens carefully and worked out what part of their produce they could spare for the stall, how much they could give to Rosie for her cakes, tarts and pies and how much they should keep for their own needs.  Their calculations showed that they had plenty and to spare – foodstuffs that might otherwise had gone to waste.

 

Meanwhile, Tauriel had been purchasing materials from the elven weavers in the tree houses below and was creating some gorgeously pretty frocks for little elven girls and some lovely dresses for the adults.  Mary Sue popped into the house from the forge one day and, sitting with her at the table whilst she sewed, casually chattered about the clothing from her own world, describing some of the styles and fashions that were different.  Tauriel looked up with interest and finally asked her daughter-in-law to supply her with a series of sketches.  She studied one group of drawings in particular.  Well, if this didn’t hit the elves straight between the eyes, then nothing would, she thought with a grin.  And Mary Sue went away giggling at Tauriel’s audacity.

 

And so, what was Lostwithiel’s special skill?  What would he bring to the table?  Well, the elf had been so impressed by Frodo’s book that he had decided to write a series of novellas.  He reckoned there would be a serious demand for these because there was a gaping hole in the market.  After all, what did they have to read?  Only the Silmarillion and other old stuff.  What people wanted, he was sure, was something exciting, realistic, romantic, sexy.  And he was the one who would give it to them. 

 

He spent hours, typing away on the laptop in his study, and then he printed off three slim volumes.  “I’ll write more if these take off,” he said to Poppy and she was the only one in the family who knew what he was up to.  In fact, he used her as a sounding board and asked her to give him her honest opinion of his stories.  She read them all in one go, sitting up late into the night to finish them.  “They’re fantastic, ‘Thiel,” she said.  “I just can’t wait for you to write some more so that I can find out what happens next to our protagonists.”  And then she designed and printed off some very racy covers for them.

 

Some weeks later, all was ready.  For several days, Rosie had been writing up recipes in a careful hand and, the day before the market, she and Bilbo cooked up a storm, making large quantities of beautifully decorated cakes and delicious-smelling savoury pies to which her recipes were attached.  And, early the next morning, they set off slowly with all their produce in a wagon.  The Oakenshields had arrived!

 

Pt III

 

As they plodded down the hill, everyone pestered Lostwithiel about his contribution.  No-one as yet, except Poppy, knew about his books and all he would say, in response to their teasing, was that they would soon find out when he displayed his wares on the stall.  Thorin stared at the elf lord with a furrowed brow, wondering if he were up to something, but Lostwithiel just grinned and kept his eye on his covered box so that no-one took a peek before it was absolutely necessary.  He wasn’t quite sure what the response would be and so he had decided not to reveal his secret until the last moment.

 

His three stories followed the adventures of Toren, the Barbarian, and Tourelle, the Warrior Queen.  Their race was not mentioned nor did the cover art make it absolutely clear, but it was pretty obvious from their names and from other details that these two characters were Thorin and Tauriel in a thin disguise. 

 

Poppy had shrieked with laughter when she had first started reading _Toren and Tourelle Save Middle-earth_.  “Oh, goodness, ‘Thiel!  What will my parents say when they read this?”

 

“Do you think they’ll stop me from selling them,” asked the elf anxiously.  He felt he was giving birth to an epic and was very protective of what he had written so far.

 

“I don’t think they can – even if they want to,” she giggled.  “It would make them look too mean-spirited.”

 

And then she had thrown herself into the whole thing by designing covers that she knew would make her father, at least, quite furious. 

 

Toren the Barbarian was the epitome of virile masculinity: his black hair hung dishevelled about a fiercely brooding face, his blue eyes flashed, his biceps bulged, his naked chest bore both tattoos and a nipple ring, his loin cloth seemed nicely padded and he carried the biggest sword ever.

 

Tourelle, the Warrior Queen, had the longest legs, the tightest, fitted armour, incredibly glossy blond hair and a bosom that threatened to overflow her breast-plate.  “I could fancy her,” laughed Lostwithiel, peering at his wife’s initial drawing over her shoulder.  “I think your cover art is going to be naughtier than my stories and I refuse to take responsibility for it!”

 

The second story, _Toren and Tourelle Save the World_ , depicted Tourelle chained to a rock (I thought I’d give Thranduil his naked maiden, Poppy said) with only wisps of gauzy material covering the important bits, whilst a similarly nearly-naked Toren fought off a ferocious monster.  “Wow!  This looks like a good story!” her husband winked.  “Even better than the first one, I reckon.”

 

And the third story, _Toren and Tourelle Save the Universe_ , showed our two heroes tangled together in a steamy embrace.

 

All three books told a continuing and exciting story of the barbarian and the queen in a series of breath-stopping, edge-of-the-seat adventures which had held Poppy totally enthralled.  Oh, yes: and there was a sexual encounter on every other page. 

 

“I think these books and their art work will be a first for Valinor, don’t you think?” asked Lostwithiel proudly.

 

“The first for anywhere, I should imagine,” giggled Poppy.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel and Mary Sue between them had also produced a first for the Undying Lands: sexy underwear.

 

“Underwear?” Tauriel had queried.

 

“You know, the stuff that goes beneath the outerwear,” laughed Mary Sue.

 

“Oh, you mean, like, small clothes: the stuff you wear under the big clothes.”  And they both giggled together.

 

Mary Sue had already described men’s Speedos when Thorin’s below-the-belt tattoos had been discussed.  Now she went into the details of ladies’ underwear in her world, along with loads of sketches.

 

Tauriel’s eyes widened.  In Middle-earth and Valinor, small clothes were made of plain white linen, although she suspected that Thranduil’s were made of silk.  But, his were the exception as far as she could make out. Older dwarves sometimes wore knitted all-in-ones (she grimaced at the thought) but Thorin, from the royal line of Durin, wore simple linen shorts, as did the elf lords and many men.

 

All women and female elves usually wore shifts under their dresses (made of silk only on special occasions); they sometimes wore something similar to the men’s shorts, finishing at the knee and sometimes they even wore nothing at all.

 

“That’s a bit draughty, isn’t it?” asked Mary Sue in surprise.

 

“Not in long dresses,” was the response.

 

The brassiere had not been invented.

 

Small clothes were certainly not “designed”; they were not pretty or sexy or elegant – just comfortable and functional.

 

Tauriel’s eyes opened wide as Mary Sue drew her sketches.  “I certainly miss a bra,” her daughter-in-law sighed.  “They’re heavily structured and designed to give support and I’m a bit bigger than most elf ladies.”

 

“So, let’s design some,” laughed Tauriel.  “They’ll certainly give the men a nice surprise.”

 

And after designing a whole range of matching sets, Tauriel went out and bought some pretty silks and lots of fancy lace.

 

The two of them worked on the underwear in secret and, when the first sets were finished, Mary Sue dared the elf to try them on.  They waited until the men were occupied elsewhere and then, giggling, went into Tauriel’s bedroom for a fashion parade.

 

“Wow!  You look amazing!” exclaimed Mary Sue when the elf appeared in the first outfit from behind a screen.

 

Tauriel stared at herself in the mirror and blushed. “I don’t know about this underwear,” she said, “but I feel more naked with them on than with them totally off.”

 

“That’s the whole attraction,” said Mary Sue.  “Men seem really drawn to them.  Thorin won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

 

“Oh, no,” said Tauriel.  “None of these are for me – they’re for sale.”  But she sighed as she took off her favourite set, a pale ivory silk with the most delicate lace ever.

 

When all the sets were finished, they packed them away in pretty display boxes and hid them carefully amongst the other clothing.  “I never know which way Thorin will jump,” laughed the elf.  “He might decide that they’re just too disgusting, so I’ll keep them a secret until the last minute.”

 

And so, on that particular day, two secret boxes descended down the hill in the wagon to the market stalls.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

It was a fine day and the stalls were set up outside.  The Oakenshields were given five tables, all lined up next to each other.  On one, Thorin and Mary Sue set out the swords and the jewellery; on another, Arion and Beren placed their fresh fruit and vegetables; next to them, Rosie had her lovely food and recipes; on a fourth, Tauriel carefully placed her beautiful clothing; and, on the last, Poppy set out her watercolours and her pretty boxes of painted paper with, adjacent to them, Lostwithiel’s books.  Bilbo had come to help because he was interested to see how the cakes, pies and recipes went.

 

Thorin proudly examined his wife’s selection of clothing and then suddenly came to a row of attractive boxes, opened up so that customers could see the contents.  He held up a scant handful of silk and lace.  “What on earth is this?” he asked.

 

“Umm, underwear.  You know, small clothes,” Tauriel said, taking the lacy thing from him and carefully putting it back in its box.

 

“Small clothes!” exclaimed Thorin.

 

“Yes, it’s what they wear back in Mary Sue’s world.”

 

He picked up a brassiere from the set.  “And what about this?” he asked, sounding more and more agitated.

 

“It’s a bra,” put in Mary Sue.  “It raises and supports the boobs.  I helped Tauriel design it all.”

 

Thorin spluttered and dropped the piece of silk as if it were hot from his forge.

 

“You – you can’t sell this stuff,” he said, turning red with embarrassment.  “They hardly cover anything and they certainly won’t keep you warm.”

 

“Well,” said his wife airily.  “Let’s just see how much people want them.”

 

Thorin edged away and stumbled over the stall manned by Poppy and Lostwithiel.  He looked with approval at his daughter’s creations and then noticed the books.

 

“The sets form a trilogy,” said the elf proudly.  “Your daughter did the art work and, I must admit, we’re very proud of the end result.”

 

Thorin picked up a book with a look of horror on his face.  It was easy to recognise both himself and his wife on the front cover, however exaggerated their forms and features were.  He turned to the synopsis at the back:

 

_Join Toren and Tourelle as they make their way through Middle-earth, fighting and loving and saving their world from monsters and orcs and dragons.  As they raise the stakes, they will raise your temperatures.  The first in a trilogy._

 

And underneath was a fabricated review from Poppy:

 

 _Exciting, explicit and steamy.  You will wish their journey will never end.  Fall in love with these two heroes as they take you along on their ride…..and then come back for more!_ (The Valinor Times)

 

Poppy and Lostwithiel held hands tightly as they waited for the explosion.  But Thorin knew there was nothing he could do.  “I’ll kill you later,” he said quietly.  And he flung the book angrily onto the table and marched back to his own stall.  “Lostwithiel has written a fantasy book with us as the lead characters,” he hissed to Tauriel.

 

“Oh, has he?” said Tauriel with an interested smile.  “That’s nice.”

 

“It looks really trashy,” he muttered.  “It won’t sell, you know.”

 

It’s called optimism.

 

.o00o.

 

The market was remarkably busy.  Word had spread that the Oakenshields had introduced five new stalls and everyone who could be there was there.  Even Thranduil arrived early in an open carriage, driven by one of his retainers.  “I wouldn’t want to miss anything,” he said with a raised eyebrow, “now would I?”

 

They all felt very flustered because their customers were standing three deep, craning to see their produce and crafts and, soon, their wares were just flying off the tables.

 

Grateful, busy housewives swept up the cakes and pies, relieved that the problem of what to have that evening had been sorted with the minimum amount of effort on their behalf.  And, after they had read the recipes, they hastily bought up the fruit and vegetables so that they could make something similar themselves the following day.

 

Then they turned to look at the things of beauty: the dresses and the gold jewellery.  It was nice to just look at them and chat about them even if they didn’t buy them.  But, all these items were disappearing fast.

 

And Poppy’s wares also received considerable admiration and attention.  The framed watercolours sold straight away and the rest of her art work followed suit soon thereafter.  Poppy tossed her head with a certain measure of conceit as everyone told her how talented she was.

 

Thorin’s swords were the most difficult to sell because they were expensive and specialist and appealed to men who were a bit thin on the ground.  Market day was mainly a woman’s preserve.  But he still had a goodly cluster of elf lords around him, examining the weapons in an appreciative way.  One was finally sold and several of the elves said that they would return later in the day to discuss the second after they had had a think.

 

But, the most excited attention was being given to the boxes of Tauriel’s underwear and to Lostwithiel’s pile of books.  Little shrieks were coming from those who were examining the dainty pieces of silk and lace.  “You put them where?” they gasped as they held up the bras.  “What a good idea!  And so attractive!”

 

Tauriel had plenty of customers for them, both elf lords and ladies, and quite a few commissions.  “Is the set for you or your wife?” Tauriel asked one elf lord cheekily.

 

“Oh, definitely for me,” he replied, with a twinkle in his eye.  “I shall certainly get my money’s worth out of these.  I can see her in them already.”  And he walked away with a jaunty spring to his step.

 

But Thranduil was first in line and he picked up Tauriel’s favourite set, the one in ivory silk.  “How lovely,” he said, caressing the soft material.  “Any chance of you modelling them for me, Tauriel?” he asked with a naughty wink.

 

“No, there’s not,” snarled Thorin who had overheard the remark.  “Now, just back off.”  Thranduil grinned amiably at him and made his purchase.

 

“Are these for a lady?” Tauriel asked curiously, hoping that Thranduil had at last found someone with whom to share his lonely days – and nights.

 

“Well, I’m not going to wear them myself, if that’s what you mean,” he laughed, as he took the box from her.

 

“But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” muttered Thorin under his breath.

 

Then the elven king stepped smartly sideways to Lostwithiel’s stall and was one of the first to pick up his books.  He studied the art work with a wicked smile playing about his lips.  “I did the covers,” said Poppy smugly and she went up several pegs in Thranduil’s estimation.

 

“What a lively imagination you have,” he said.  He recognised the lead characters straight away and enjoyed flicking through the first few pages.  Then he picked up the second book with the naked maiden.  “Ah, Poppy,” he grinned, “I see you thought of me.  Too kind.  I must recompense you in some way.”  And he gave her a little suggestive leer.

 

“Well,” she responded, not easily embarrassed as usual, “you can buy a set of my ’Thiel’s books.  I’m sure they’re right up your street.”

 

“I just think they may be,” he laughed, giving her the requisite amount of money and sauntering away to sit on a bench and read them.

 

As the day progressed, all the books disappeared and soon lots of purchasers could be seen dotted around the harbour area, on benches and the harbour wall, totally absorbed in reading.  And then Thorin noticed that people kept on glancing at both him and Tauriel with big grins splitting their lips.  That wretched book, he thought.  I _shall_ kill him this time, I swear it.

 

When he complained to Tauriel, she just couldn’t understand why he didn’t mind boasting about his sexual exploits in Frodo’s book but objected to his portrayal in Lostwithiel’s.

 

“Because _I_ decided what to tell Frodo and it was the truth for a scientific survey.  Lostwithiel’s book is just titillating nonsense, as far as I can tell.”

 

“Well, perhaps you should read it first before you pass judgement,” was all his wife said with a toss of her head, although even she found the covers rather over the top.

 

And so, just so that he could have the last word, he marched up to Lostwithiel and asked to buy the trilogy in a very bad-tempered growl.

 

“Please have this set on me,” said the elf politely, hoping against hope that Thorin would actually like the books and not come after him once he had finished.

 

.o00o.

 

By the end of the day, their tables were swept completely clean.   Thorin was busy packing empty boxes and rubbish in the wagon when Thranduil quietly came up to Tauriel.  He handed her the box of ivory silk underwear and said.  “A present for you, Tauriel – or perhaps it’s a present for Thorin.”  And he smiled wryly.

 

“Oh, Thranduil,” she said sadly, “and there was me thinking that you had found a lovely lady after all this time.  How can I thank you?”

 

“No thanks needed,” he laughed.  “My reward is to imagine you in these tonight.  That Thorin is a lucky man.”  And he climbed up into his carriage and waved the trilogy at her.  “Something to keep me warm at night,” he said, as the carriage pulled away.

 

.o00o.

 

When they got back to the forge, both very pleased with the success of the day, Tauriel bustled around making supper whilst Thorin opened up the first of Lostwithiel’s books.  When the meal was placed on the table, Thorin had to be called twice, so absorbed was he; and, even then, he sat up to the table, eating his food with one hand and holding the book in the other.  He continued to read it all evening and finally finished it, sitting up in bed. He was looking very flushed and muttered: “I think I’ll just start the next one.”  And then he reached for book number two.

 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Tauriel, standing in the doorway.  “Time for bed, I think.”

 

Thorin looked very disappointed but stayed his hand and picked up his glass of water instead.  Then Tauriel let her robe fall to the floor and Thorin nearly choked on his drink.  Tauriel was wearing one of those weird sets of underwear but she looked so desirable that he could hardly breathe.  She walked seductively towards him and bent down to kiss him, her breasts nearly falling out of that strange top, just like in Poppy’s drawing of Tourelle.

 

“So, how about making love to your very own warrior queen,” she asked huskily, “or would you rather get on with your book?”

 

“Oh, real life wins out over fantasy every time,” he said in his deep, dark voice.  “But fantasy books definitely give you some interesting ideas.”  And he threw back the coverlet and pulled her into his arms.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, ‘Thiel,” laughed Poppy, “what a wonderful, sexy story.  And what a great set of fantasy novels you’ve written.”_

_“And what glorious art work on the front,” he chuckled.  “How did I manage to marry such a talented wife?”_

_Everyone was long gone to their own beds and the elf was feeling very tired with all his creative efforts._

_“Time for us to go to bed too, my love,” he said.  “And time for Lostwithiel, the famous author, to make love to Poppy, his gifted artist wife, don’t you think?”_

_“Oh, definitely,” she grinned and, slipping her arm about his waist, she pulled him from the room.)_

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL, those books sound good! In a few episodes, Lostwithiel will write some more and we get to explore the contents of one of them. In the meantime, let me know what you thought of this chapter if you enjoyed it.
> 
>  
> 
> Next story: Thorin and Thranduil’s Chosen. Yes!! Thranduil gets to meet The One…….perhaps. And if you didn’t like the elven king before, you’ll like him even less after this episode. Or maybe not. People often feel sorry for him rather than hating him. It’s not a very nice story but, you know me: I hate to paint things completely in black and white. Hope to see you next week!


	56. Thorin and Thranduil's Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is excited because he has found his Chosen One - or has he? Let's find out. I think this may all end in tears.

**Well, just when you thought that you were beginning to like Thranduil, LOL, I go and write this one!  But perhaps you will feel sorry for him instead.**

**And, BTW, speaking about Thranduil…… it was while I was writing this chapter some months ago that I decided to step up to the plate and write a number of new stories after a friend, known on here as Saraleee, challenged me to write a slash.  They’re Thranduil/Thorin stories and are nothing like these here: they’re not the same style of characters and humour only creeps into them later on (there are eight out of twelve up at the time of posting this) – they’re very angsty instead.  But, I found that, like _All About Thorin,_ I just had to write them as a romance, rather than wall-to-wall smut, and I had to give them a happy ending.  Don’t go and read them if you don’t like slash (which I assume a lot of you here don’t since you like _All About Thorin_ ) or if you feel that such stories will somehow damage the image you have created in your mind of my Thorin and Thranduil here.  But, if you want to try, then the first one is called _King of the Antlered Throne_ and it belongs to the _Two Kings_ series.  It follows them from the day they first meet, through all the rows, misunderstandings and tantrums, right up to their wedding day, LOL!**

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s Chosen

 

Pt I

 

Thranduil had been very lonely for a long time.  Ever since his wife had died, centuries ago, he had been looking for someone to love and for someone to love him.  But, he was a king – and a king with a difficult personality at that – and finding that special someone was not an easy task.

 

The elf lord projected an aggressive sexuality but that was all a show – part of his arrogance – a way he had of intimidating both men and women and bending them to his will.  In actuality, he was a typical elf, chaste in body, even though not chaste in thought, and the only person he had ever slept with was his wife.  And the only person he had ever loved, apart from his wife, was Tauriel.  There was a time when he had thought she might agree to marry him and he quietly courted her for years.  But she was not in love with him and, although he waited in hope, in the end, she had married the dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield.

 

He had been shocked and repulsed at their union at the time and he had still waited for her, believing that she would see sense and finally leave him.  But, after more than 70 years, their love was as strong as ever.  He had come to accept their union and even found some strange pleasure in Thorin’s company and in the company of his extended family.  They were a lot more fun than his own son, Legolas, and his son’s lover, Gimli, another dwarf, and he had found himself often drifting over to Thorin’s forge to spend time with them all, even though Thorin was often short-tempered and edgy with him.

 

Tauriel, however, was still kind and loving towards him: she understood him and was prepared to forgive him almost anything.  Young Rosie, Thorin’s granddaughter, was a lovely child – a child to him, at least - who seemed genuinely to enjoy his company and Poppy, who was growing on him, would butter him up because she enjoyed the status of her association with a king.  Mary Sue was from another world and he found that intriguing.  Arion might be polite and distant, but Beren and Lostwithiel, the two elven spouses, recognised him as an important overlord and offered him respect.

 

And Thorin?  How did he feel about Thranduil?  Who knew?  The dwarf was a lot more difficult to read than he had first imagined and perhaps Thorin didn’t even know himself how he thought about the elven king.  But, for the most part, the dwarf tolerated him and allowed him to continue his friendship with Tauriel.

 

But now, things were finally changing.  He had woken up one morning and had decided that it was no use just sitting there waiting for love: he had to go in search of it.  And where was he going to find it?  Well, not in his own court.  The elven ladies of his court were Silvan not Sindar like himself, for a start, and only Tauriel had ever measured up to his high standards; moreover, he knew them far too well – and they knew him too well, for that matter.  And he thought of Elrond’s court, only a short distance further up the coast.  The Half-Elven’s court was a sort of crossroads.  Its members seemed to come and go from all over the Undying Lands and there was a chance, since Thranduil had shut himself and his people away in Mirkwood for many centuries, maintaining an isolationist stance, that there were many elven ladies there who were unknown to him.

 

And now he had found her, The One, and he wanted to show her off to the only group of people that he saw as friends: Thorin Oakenshield and his family.

 

.o00o.

 

“I would like to borrow the laptop,” said the beautiful elf quietly to Tauriel.

 

Tauriel placed a gentle hand on Idris’ arm.

 

I need to know why you want it first,” she said.

 

“My life is such a mess and I need to sort it out,” she said.  “One way of doing that, I believe, is to write what happens next on the laptop.”

 

“It seems so easy, doesn’t it?” said Tauriel.  “You just write what you think ought to happen and iron out any difficulties you feel you have got yourself into.  But that’s not necessarily how it works.”

 

“What do you mean?” asked Idris, looking anxious.  Ever since she had been told about the laptop, she thought she had found the answer to her problems but now Tauriel was being hesitant about helping her.

 

“Well, you just don’t know if the laptop will take over.  Sometimes it just adds little extras but sometimes it writes the whole lot.  Your story has got to make sense.  It’s got to be logical and it’s got to be a true reflection of the characters involved.  If you try to make people in the story behave in a way they wouldn’t normally, then the laptop takes over and writes the story for you and you might not like the direction it takes you in.  You set out the situation and it seems to make decisions about the outcome.  You might get the opposite of what you want.  It’s happened in so many stories that we’ve tried to write.”

 

“I understand,” said Idris slowly, “and I think I’m willing to take the risk.”

 

Tauriel looked at her thoughtfully for a few moments and then pushed the laptop towards her.  “I’ll get you a cup of tea,” she said.

 

Idris sat down and opened up the computer.  She was almost afraid to start but she finally found the courage to type the title and begin:

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s Chosen.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

When Thranduil first met Idris on a visit to Elrond’s court and decided that she was The One, he gave her no time to catch her breath.  He made a total assault upon her with poetry and flowers and soft-spoken words of love.  All the charm that he could muster was turned upon her and soon Idris succumbed.

 

It was very flattering, of course.  Not only was he a king who could, she imagined, have had just about anyone, but he was very beautiful and elegant and eloquent and, well, just about everything any elven woman might want.  When he finally kissed her, she was filled with longing and imagined a life-time in bed with the elven king…and it was not an unattractive thought.  Of course, it was inappropriate for them to do anything intimate together until they had exchanged silver rings but once he had asked her to marry him and she had eagerly said yes, then they had exchanged rings and had fallen breathlessly into bed together.

 

She was not disappointed.  He had been married before and he knew what he was doing.  Their love-making was intense, passionate - beautiful even - but she began to be aware of a small feeling of disquiet: he was always very dominant and would never let her take the lead in anything.  Idris was vaguely unhappy with this required passivity but decided that there was plenty of time to talk about it when the moment was right.

 

“Would you like to meet some of my friends?” asked Thranduil one morning.  She had moved into his palace overlooking the sea as soon as they had exchanged rings and they shared his spacious apartments there. They were lying in bed and had been awake for at least an hour.  Idris had wanted to get up and get dressed some time ago but Thranduil had insisted that she stay in bed with him so that he could admire her beauty in the morning light.  All well and good, but she was beginning to get restless yet dared not ask him again because she knew he got bad-tempered if he was crossed in any way.

 

The thought of visiting his friends was an attractive one.  Since she had moved into the palace, she had felt a bit of a prisoner.   The only other people she had met were his son, Legolas, and the dwarf, Gimli, who appeared to have an all-absorbing relationship with each other and didn’t seem particularly interested in the lover that Thranduil had installed in his home.  They were nice enough but rather detached.  When she had tried to start up a light-hearted conversation with Legolas, asking him how he felt about having a new mother, he had just shrugged and said he was no longer a child and whatever his father chose to do was none of his business.

 

Sometimes she drifted around the palace admiring the beautiful views from the large windows but Thranduil seldom let her alone for long.  The moment he realised she was missing, he would go in search of her and then wanted to know every detail of what she had been doing.  Sometimes he could be a bit oppressive even though she concluded that it was a sign of his love for her that he couldn’t bear to be parted from her, even for an hour.

 

And so, the thought of travelling down the coast to meet some of his friends was very tempting.  She would see the outside world after a month of being closeted with her beloved and she would have the chance to talk with other people.

 

Will I like them, she wanted to know?  And will they like me?  How could they not like you, he had murmured, leaving a trail of kisses down her lovely body.  And he told her all about Tauriel, his one-time captain of the guard, whom he had also loved, and she felt a twinge of jealousy.  Her jealousy seemed to please him but, “Don’t worry,” he said.  “She’s been married for years to Thorin Oakenshield.  He’s a dwarf, don’t you know?”  And, yes, she did know and got quite excited at the thought of meeting him at last which rather annoyed Thranduil who bit her lip quite sharply.

 

“Just remember,” he had said, “you belong to me so I don’t want you making eyes at any dwarf, however handsome.”

 

“Is he handsome?” she had asked curiously but since this had elicited a rather irritated slap on her behind, she decided not to ask any more questions about the dwarf but asked about his other friends instead.

 

Strangely, these were all Thorin’s extended family and although she was dying to ask Thranduil how this had come about, she felt it more sensible to hold her tongue and just listen to whatever he cared to tell her about them.

 

But it was lovely to escape from the boredom of the palace and she enjoyed the ride along the coast as far as the harbour where Thranduil turned his horse and took a path leading uphill.  Near the top, they came across a strange huddle of dwellings: a small stone manor, a hobbit hole (her king had to explain what that was to her), an elven home made of pretty twisted branches, an unusual but attractive cottage with a thatched roof and, finally, a cave (!) with an elven extension plus a forge and stables attached to it.

 

“Now, make sure you behave yourself,” said her beloved as he knocked on the door.  “I’m showing you off, so I’ll be cross if you let me down.”

 

She chewed her lip anxiously but the door was opened by a beautiful silvan elf with such a welcoming face that Idris relaxed immediately.

 

“Come in, come in,” cried Tauriel.  “The whole family’s here!”

 

“Good!  We can get them all over in one go,” muttered Thranduil.

 

Idris was introduced to so many new people, who all hugged and kissed her as if they had known her for years, that she felt somewhat confused.  But there was no mistaking Thorin Oakenshield.  Thranduil had not exaggerated when he had said he was handsome – not in the elven way, of course, but he had a magnetic presence and she found it difficult not to stare into his deep, blue eyes.

 

However, she remembered Thranduil’s strictures and she tried hard not to let her eyes drift too often towards him.  They were all quite lovely and yet she found it strange that Thranduil should have friends like these – somehow, they just didn’t seem his type.

 

Also present in the room, sitting quietly in a corner, were two elves, one of whom she recognised with pleasure.

 

“This is Borondin,” smiled Tauriel, “who used to be part of the troop that we manned in Middle-earth.”  He was a handsome elf with extremely long, blond hair and a lovely smile.

 

“And this is Tagrith, his – umm – friend.”  And the elf woman grinned.  “Perhaps you know each other?”  And they certainly did.  Both she and Tagrith were from Elrond’s court and Tagrith was very distinctive with that horrible, jagged scar across her face.  But Idris had always liked her and she felt truly pleased to see that the elf had found herself such a gorgeous “friend”.

 

The afternoon passed very pleasantly.  They all admired the silver rings around the couple’s necks and expressed real pleasure that Thranduil had finally found himself a mate.  At last, Tagrith and Borondin set off for their home near the harbour and Thorin turned to them with a smile.  “Would you like to stay for the night in our guest room?” he asked graciously and they both thanked him for his kindness.

 

After a late supper, when the rest of the family had left the forge for their own homes, Thranduil and Idris retired to the guest room.

 

“You did very well, beloved,” said the elf lord.  “They liked you and you didn’t let me down…..except,” he said thoughtfully, “if we meet up with Tagrith again, “I don’t want you to chat with her so much.  A polite nod should be enough.”

 

Idris looked startled.  “Why?  What’s wrong with her?” she asked.

 

Thranduil gave a cold laugh.  “I would say that it’s patently obvious what’s wrong with her,” he said.  “She must be the ugliest creature in Valinor.  She is an outcast and I don’t want my future wife to be tainted by association.”  Idris opened her mouth to protest and then she closed it.  She understood Thranduil well enough by now to know that any remark from her would cause an unpleasant argument that she was bound to lose.

 

Then he pulled her into his arms and smirked.  “I noticed that the dwarf kept looking at you,” he said in a self-satisfied voice.  “I’m sure he could see how desirable you are and was envious of my prize.”

 

Idris couldn’t imagine why anyone married to the glorious Tauriel would cast envious glances her way but the thought seemed to please Thranduil and so she made no comment.  Yet, she found it odd, if he and the dwarf were friends, that he should be so competitive.  And she found it even odder when he carried her to bed and made love passionately to her, that he demanded that she call him Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

After their bout of love-making, Idris lay awake for a long time whilst Thranduil slept.  Then she slipped quietly from the bed and entered the living-room of the main house, turning up the dim lamps that she found there.  She looked around until she found the writing slope and then sat down at the table and got out the notepaper, quill and ink that were kept inside.  It took a long, long time to compose her letter but, in the end, she was satisfied.

 

Then, as she packed everything away, Tauriel slid silently into the room and closed her bedroom door behind her.

 

“I saw the light under the door,” she whispered.  “Is something wrong?  Can I help?”

 

Idris sat in silence for a long time.  Then she finally held up the letter and said: “This is to Thranduil.  I’m just about to saddle my horse and then I shall ride home to Elrond’s court.  I’m leaving him.”

 

Tauriel gasped.  “You can’t just walk out on him like this.  You’ll break his heart.”

 

“But, I must bring an end to our relationship,” Idris sighed.  “I’ve felt uneasy for some time now and coming here has just confirmed my doubts about him.”

 

Tauriel sat and held her hand.  “In what way?” she asked.

 

“Your whole family,” she said.  “You’re all so warm and loving and Thorin treats you as an equal.  Thranduil, in comparison, is so cold and he always wants me to submit to his will.  I want a marriage like yours and I want a husband like Thorin.  Thranduil is not the one for me.”

 

Tauriel touched her face gently.  “But you two are betrothed and you wear each other’s rings about your necks.  He deserves more than a letter.  You must be brave and tell him to his face.”

 

“But I’m frightened of him,” said Idris looking at her anxiously.  “What shall I do if he loses his temper?”

 

“We’re here,” said Tauriel comfortingly.  “Better to tell him here than when you are back in his palace or if you are forced to confront him on the road.”

 

Idris looked doubtful, but finally the decision was taken out of her hands because Thranduil was suddenly there, on the threshold.

 

“Is there something wrong, beloved?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said firmly.  “Could you please let me have my ring?”

 

Confused, Thranduil took her ring from his throat and passed it over.  Then Idris led the way to the forge next door where the coals still burned and, taking the elf lord’s ring from her own throat, she cast them both into the fire.

 

“It’s over,” she said.

 

“I don’t understand,” he whispered, staring at the melting silver in shock.

 

She sighed: “I want more than you seem capable of offering,” she said.  And she thrust her letter into his hand.  “This explains things.  Now I’m leaving and I don’t want you to follow me.”

 

And she strode from the forge to the stables where she started to saddle her horse.  He watched her in disbelief for some moments but when she led the horse outside and made to mount, he seized her by the wrist and dragged her into his arms.  “You shan’t leave!” he said fiercely.  “You’re mine and I shan’t let you go.”

 

Thorin’s dry voice interrupted: “And that’s just the sort of attitude that drove her away in the first place, I can imagine,” he said curtly.

 

Thranduil’s grip tightened even more firmly on her arms and she flinched.  “Keep out of this, dwarf!” he snapped.  “Go back to your bed!”

 

“Help me, Thorin,” Idris appealed to him.

 

“My pleasure,” said Thorin and he seized Thranduil by the scruff of the neck and punched him hard on the nose so that he fell to the ground.

 

Thorin rubbed his knuckles and grinned: “Now, just how many years have I been waiting to do that?” he said.  Then, turning to Idris whilst the elf lord still lay sprawled on the ground, he helped her onto her horse.  “Go now.  There’s a good moon.  He won’t follow you, I promise.”  And Idris bent and kissed him on the cheek and then was gone.

 

Thranduil slowly sat up, dabbing at the stream of blood escaping from one nostril.  “What now?” he asked.  “Do we fetch our swords?”

 

“No,” said Thorin equably, pulling him to his feet.  “I suggest a cold compress and a nice, hot cup of tea.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Tauriel, who had been standing anxiously on the threshold, returned quietly to her bedroom and left them to it.

 

Thorin made the tea whilst Thranduil sat at the table and read the letter.  “I might have known,” said the elf bitterly when the dwarf returned with the pot and the cups.  “She’s left me because I don’t match up to you.”

 

“She’s left you,” snapped Thorin, plonking the pot on the table, “because you didn’t treat her properly and seeing all my family gathered together like this suddenly made her realise that, if she stayed with you, she would never have the same love and laughter.”

 

“I would have made her a queen,” he returned angrily.  “Wasn’t that enough?”

 

“For some, perhaps,” was the reply, “but obviously not for Idris.”

 

“I should never have brought her here,” was the next comment.

 

“So, what was the alternative?  To keep her locked up in your palace forever?”

 

“In retrospect, that sounds like a good idea,” was the wry riposte.  “Having people in my power was always my thing, don’t you know?”

 

“Yes, I do know,” said Thorin.  “I know it all too well and from personal experience.”

 

The elf king let out a bark of laughter and then, after a moment’s silence, looked distressed again.

 

“When she threw our rings into the fire, it really hurt, you know.”

 

“Yes, I know,” said Thorin quietly.

 

“No fake sympathy,” snapped Thranduil.

 

“You’re forgetting that my betrothal to Tauriel only lasted a short time and our rings were tossed into the fires of the forge as well.”

 

The elf lord looked at him curiously.  “I always wondered about that.  I’m surprised that Tauriel did that to you.”

 

“No,” said Thorin.  “I did it to Tauriel.”

 

Then, there was a very long pause and the elf king waited for him to say more.

 

“It was the cruellest thing I’ve ever done,” Thorin continued at last.  “I deliberately made love to her and then I wrenched the rings from our necks and threw them both in the fire.  I’ll never forget the look in her eyes or the pain I felt as I did it.  And then I walked out and left her.  My pride prevented me from going after her for nearly a year.  And then I found her pregnant.”  He grimaced.  “I thought the child was yours.”

 

“I appreciate your trust but you’re giving me a lot of weapons I could use against you, Thorin,” said the elven king quietly.

 

Thorin shrugged.  “Perhaps.  I just want you to know that I understand your pain.”

 

“So,” said Thranduil slowly, pouring himself another cup of tea, “do you think I should wait a bit and then go after her?  Just like you went after Tauriel?”

 

“No,” said Thorin bluntly.

 

“Why on earth not?” the elf exclaimed.

 

“Because it’s obvious that you two are just not suited to each other.”

 

The elven king was indignant: “Well, I just don’t see how you can make that judgement call.”

 

“Oh, yes, I can,” laughed Thorin, “because I’ve read Frodo’s book.  And I can say right here and now that Idris is obviously the type to want vanilla sex and you’re – not.”

 

“Well,” snorted Thranduil defensively, “people need to be introduced to certain ideas slowly.  From what I hear, just about all the readers of Frodo’s book were intrigued enough to have a bit of a go.”

 

“Including Tauriel,” said Thorin.

 

“Really?” said Thranduil and his eyes lit up.

 

“Momentarily,” said Thorin dryly.  “Very momentarily.  And, that’s the point.  People had a go out of curiosity and then went back to what they had been doing before.  You know, the ordinary stuff.  Mind you, it was a bonus for me and so I suppose I ought to thank you.”

 

“In what way – a bonus?  Did it improve your love life?”  And Thranduil threw him a look as if this was only to be expected.

 

“No, but it did improve my sale of manacles and chains by a huge amount, and so I’d like to thank you for that.”  And he grinned at Thranduil’s disappointment.

 

“So,” said the elf finally, “if you don’t think I should go after her, what do you think I should do?”

 

“Look for someone else who’s more in tune with your life style – or someone who will stand up to you,” answered Thorin.

 

“You mean, like Tauriel?” Thranduil queried.  “She’s always put me in my place.  I get quite a kick out of it, actually.”

 

“Tauriel’s taken,” was the curt response.

 

“Or perhaps I could change,” suggested the elf lord, looking up hopefully.  “What do you think?”

 

“Well,” mused the dwarf, “I’ve been trying to change for 70 years now, working to control my dwarven jealousy, for instance, and, although I’ve made progress, it’s not a done deal.  After a month or so of trying to be the sort of husband that Idris wants you to be, I can see the handcuffs being whipped out again.”

 

Thranduil nodded sadly.  “I think you might be right.  I just feel so miserable, you know – the idea of having to start from scratch again with someone just when I thought I had found the right person.”

 

“Look,” said Thorin, reaching across to pat him on the shoulder.  “This must be very hard for you, especially since your first love, your wife, died and left you on your own for so many years.”

 

“She didn’t die,” muttered Thranduil.

 

“What?” exclaimed Thorin.

 

“She didn’t die.  She left me and Legolas and went back to her own people.  Then she died.”

 

Thorin struggled to find something appropriate to say.  Then: “There must have been a good reason to explain why she was willing to leave a young son in Mirkwood with his father.”

 

Thranduil shrugged: “I don’t think she liked the handcuffs either or my domineering personality.  And so, yes, you’re right.  I need to find someone who thinks the same way as I do.”  And he sighed.

 

Thorin tried to chase away the gloom into which the king had sunk.  “Well, here’s a cheering thought,” he said.  “I do believe that Tauriel has baked a chocolate cake and it’s sitting all alone and unattended in the pantry.  How about a slice?  Next best thing after sex, you know.”

 

And Thranduil had to agree.

 

.o00o.

 

Later that day, Thranduil saddled his horse and got ready to leave.  As he mounted, he was suddenly his arrogant self again.  “I hope you don’t regret telling me all your most intimate secrets, dwarf!” he said, looking down his nose at Thorin, who stood holding his horse’s head.

 

But Thorin just grinned.  “What makes you think I’ve told you my most intimate secrets, elf?  Now, _those_ I shall reserve for another day.”  Then he looked at the king with his head on one side.  “Any regrets about Idris?  She’s a lovely woman - you must have got something meaningful out of that relationship, surely.”

 

“The sex was good,” he said brusquely.  “I don’t regret that.”  Then, with an unpleasant leer, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and was gone.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, he’s such a pig,” tutted Tauriel after Idris had closed the laptop and had gone home.  They were lying in bed together and Thorin was recounting the conversation he had had with Thranduil._

_“Well, actually, I feel rather sorry for him,” said her husband._

_The elf burst out laughing.  “No, really?  I thought that was my territory.”_

_“I think he needs a lot of love,” continued Thorin.  “And I shall do my best to hug him and squeeze him and kiss him and love him and call him ‘friend’.  That should turn his stomach, I would think.”_

_“I could do with a lot of love at the moment,” grinned the elf, cuddling up to his powerful body._

_“Have you got a few hours?” he asked._

_“Oh, all night, if you need it.”_

_“That’ll do,” said Thorin and he pulled her gently into his arms.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: You might recognise Thorin’s last words about Thranduil: they’re from a Bugs Bunny cartoon, The Abominable Snow Rabbit, and it somehow just jumped into my mind, LOL.
> 
>  
> 
> Next episode: Just to cheer you up, because that chapter was a bit of a downer, you’ll be getting Thorin and the Birthday, wherein everyone wants to celebrate Thorin’s birthday – except Thorin.


	57. Thorin and the Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our lovely Thorin is coming up to his 277th birthday. Perhaps it’s something he would like to forget for a variety of reasons. But will his family and friends let him forget? Come and join me in this episode and put your heads together with the Oakenshields as they decide what to do about it.

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Birthday

 

Pt I

 

The dawn had just come in and Tauriel propped herself on Thorin’s broad chest and kissed his nose.  “It’s your birthday next week,” she said.

 

“Is it?” he said, a total lack of interest in his voice.

 

“You’ll be 277 years old,” she continued.

 

“Really?” he said.  “I’d lost track.”

 

“Oh, Thorin,” she laughed, “compared with me, you have so few years to remember, how on earth could you lose track?”

 

“Our age difference is one reason why I’d rather not remember,” he grumbled.  “Do you really have to rub it in that I’m just a youth compared with you?”

 

This had been a problem for Thorin ever since he had met her.  He had to get his head around the anomaly that he looked older than the elf and yet was a lot younger.  Sometimes when they had a difference of opinion, she would tut at him as if he were a child, in a ‘I know best because I am older than you’ sort of way which really, really irritated him.  Some of the other elves, like Thranduil, would do this too, of course, because they were all older than he was.  Thorin dealt with it by treating age as an irrelevancy and conveniently forgetting the sum of his passing years.

 

“Oooo,” purred Tauriel, running her hands down his body, “but what a beautiful youth.  And I wouldn’t change him for some ancient elf lord for all the gold in Erebor.”

 

She spent the next hour testing out his youthful stamina and when even Thorin at last protested that he had run out of puff and could do no more, she teased him about getting too old for fun and games and then settled back upon his chest again to discuss birthday presents.

 

“So, is there anything you’d especially like, or would you prefer a surprise?” she asked.

 

“Seriously, Tauriel,” he said tiredly, “I really don’t want anything and I’d prefer to forget the day.”  And he didn’t want a party either.  “It’s just another day on the calendar and I’d prefer to treat it as such.”

 

Birthdays were just dreary memorials like all the other dates he carried in his head and which he did his best to expunge: so many years since his mother’s death, so many years since Smaug came to the Lonely Mountain, so many years since his grandfather’s head had been struck from his body by the Gundabad orc, Azog, and his brother had died and his father had been driven mad……the list was endless and he wanted to forget.

 

Usually, he tolerated the party, the cake, the present-giving but, this year, he was determined that it should pass by unremarked and unnoticed.

 

“All right.  Fair enough,” said Tauriel and she got up from the bed and went off to make breakfast.  But, after they had eaten and Thorin went outside to sit in the early morning sun, she brought out the laptop and typed:

 

Thorin and the Birthday

 

_(And then she began.)_

“What would you like for your birthday?” asked Tauriel as she set out the breakfast things.

 

“Nothing,” grunted Thorin.  “I’d rather forget about it.”

 

“Fine,” she replied, and Thorin was glad that she hadn’t argued the point about it but took his word for it.

 

Mind you, he thought, perhaps she could have argued just a little bit, you know, like, to show that she cared.  But, all in all, it was probably best that they hadn’t had any sort of disagreement.  And he ate his egg and soldiers in a grumpy silence whilst she chattered on about the things she was planning to do with the women of the family that day.

 

Once Thorin had gone off to work in his forge - “Just a few chains,” he said.  “I’m surprised how long Thranduil’s ideas are hanging in there” – Tauriel rounded up her family plus Bilbo and they all got together at Poppy’s manor.

 

“It’s your father’s birthday next week,” she told them and they all murmured that they knew.

 

“When is it your birthday, Tauriel?” asked Mary Sue.  “I wouldn’t like to miss it.”

 

“I don’t have a birthday,” laughed the elf.  “I have a Conception Day, which, of course, is a year before the day on which my mother actually gave birth to me.”

 

Mary Sue shrieked with laughter.  “No!” she said.  “Say it’s not true.  How awful to know when your parents did – you know – and then actually have a party about it.”

 

“And,” grinned Poppy, “since so many elves do it so infrequently, how awful that they can pinpoint the exact day and hour.”

 

“Well,” giggled Mary Sue, “it never seemed to me that your Lostwithiel or Beren here only did it once in a blue moon.  They always seem to be rushing you and Rosie off for a “private moment”.  And if you’re going to tell me, Tauriel, that you and Thorin have only ever done it a handful of times in your life, then I shall never believe another word you say.”

 

Tauriel smiled at her merriment.  She was so used to the idea of a Conception Day that it had never occurred to her that others might find it amusing.  “Well, we’re lucky in this family that none of us elves is married to other elves – and that’s what makes a difference.  But, can you just stop laughing long enough for us to focus on Thorin’s birthday, please?”  And they all managed to put on a straighter face.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“Well,” Tauriel continued, “the bad news is, he doesn’t want a party and he doesn’t want any presents.  In fact, he says that he doesn’t want to be reminded of it at all.”

 

They were all surprised at his attitude and groaned, “Awww!”

 

“But the good news is,” continued the elf with a grin, “we are going to ignore his wishes.  We’ll get his presents in secret and organise a surprise party.  He shall have a birthday whether he likes it or not.”  And everyone laughed and cheered.

 

“But, in the meantime, everyone must go about their business as if they are complying with what he wants.”

 

“This should be a lot of fun,” said Poppy gleefully. “I just love going against my father’s wishes.”

 

“And always have done,” murmured her brother.

 

And then they spent a happy hour or two deciding on the presents.

 

“I’ve got some raw gold that Mary Sue could use to make a piece of jewellery as a present from us two,” suggested Arion.  And everyone thought that a hand-made item from a member of the family was a lovely idea.

 

This made Rosie think that she could make her grandfather a pair of leather gloves and Beren suggested that he could add to these with a pair of vambraces with a dwarven pattern stamped out on them.

 

Poppy and Lostwithiel didn’t think they were creative enough: “But we could supply all the wine for the party and give Thorin half a dozen bottles of the best stuff from our cellars.”

 

Talk of the party made them all think that they would have to get together to make the food, but Bilbo volunteered to make a very special and quite enormous cake:  “There are bound to be loads of people there,” he reckoned.

 

Then mention of numbers encouraged them to sit down and write a list and when they saw the length, they whistled through their teeth.

 

“I’ll get a load of simple invitations done tonight,” volunteered Poppy, “and then Arion can go down to the harbour and organise messengers to take delivery of them tomorrow.

 

“And DON’T give our forge as the return address,” said Tauriel.  “We must warn everyone that this is a surprise party.  And that means that the food will have to be prepared in everyone’s house, except mine.”

 

“What are you going to give father?” Poppy asked her mother.

 

“Well,” she smiled, “I hope I have time to make him a winter coat.  And I think I shall make it in Rosie’s house whilst she and Beren are creating their gifts: we can all chat together as we sew.”

 

And so, all the plans were laid and the secrecy added a certain measure of excitement to it all.  Whilst Arion was down at the harbour organising the messengers and handing out invitations to those who lived in the area, he also popped along to the Moot Hall and, after finding Ellandel in his office, asked if he could rent the Hall for Thorin’s special day: “And there’s an invitation for you, of course.  I’m sure he’ll want to see you there.”

 

Ellandel looked very pleased and, between them, they decided how the Hall should be set up.

 

.o00o.

 

It was very, very difficult over the next few days trying to keep their secret from Thorin.  For instance, Tauriel had to find a reason to explain why she was always out of the house.  “I’m helping Rosie make some new curtains,” she finally told him.

 

And Mary Sue had to use the forge when he wasn’t there.  Lostwithiel and Arion kept on thinking up ideas to remove him to a safe distance and, one day, after they had expressed a powerful wish to use the sweat lodge, they managed to keep him up and over the hill for hours which gave Mary Sue just enough time to finish the job.

 

Tauriel worked so hard and fast that her fingers were sore: a coat was a much more time-consuming article to make than gloves and vambraces.  She was also in close conference with Mary Sue over a second, more personal gift from her to Thorin and made her promise not to tell any of the others.  “It’s very private,” she said, “but I need your help; and I’m trusting you not to blab about the matter.”

 

“All these secrets,” groaned Mary Sue.  “I’m not quite sure I can cope.”

 

Bilbo was busy designing and then baking his cake in segments and then, of course, it had to be decorated.  Whenever Thorin saw him, he always seemed to be very hot and flustered, sitting outside his hobbit hole and fanning himself.  “I’ve promised a friend I would do some cooking for them,” he would say, “and it’s a much bigger job than I expected.”  And I’m not even lying, Bilbo thought to himself.

 

.o00o.

 

And so, everyone ran around like lunatics whilst trying to present a calm face to Thorin every time they bumped into him.  “We’re like swans,” laughed Tauriel.  “All serene grace on the surface, but our little legs are pumping away like mad beneath the water line.”

 

And Thorin, although he guessed nothing, felt uneasy.  Something strange was happening and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thorin was beginning to feel a bit bad-tempered.  It was the day before his birthday and no-one had mentioned it yet.  Well, yes, he hadn’t wanted to celebrate it or receive any presents but he had still expected some of his family to argue the point with him – in a caring sort of way, of course.  But, they hadn’t.  Not a single word on the matter!

 

He was working on his vegetable patch when Arion stopped and leaned on the fence.  “It’s looking good, father,” he said.  “You’ve cultivated a huge area.”

 

Thorin rested on his spade and enjoyed the admiration, talking at length about how the answer lay in the soil.  Then he suddenly looked up and said: “It’s my birthday tomorrow, you know.”  He really couldn’t resist it.

 

“So it is,” replied Arion in uninterested tones.  “Mine will be in a couple of months too.  I’ll make you a list of the presents I’d like.”

 

“I don’t want presents this year,” said Thorin casually.

 

“Yes, so mother said,” answered his son.  “Ah well, better get back to Mary Sue.  Keep up the good work.”  And he nodded at the cabbages and was gone.

 

Back at the cottage, Arion wiped an exaggerated hand across his brow.  “Phew, that was a close one,” he grinned at Mary Sue.  “Father actually started talking about his birthday and I wasn’t quite sure what to say.  For someone who doesn’t care what day it is tomorrow, he’s not putting up a very good show.”  And they giggled together before she set out for the forge to finish off the present.

 

An hour later, Thorin, feeling rather restless, gave up his digging and sauntered up the hill to Bilbo’s hobbit hole.  The hobbit was sitting outside, fanning himself once more.

 

“Still at it?” laughed the dwarf.  “Don’t work yourself to death just for someone else’s benefit.”

 

“Well, I like him,” smiled Bilbo.  “I’d do anything for a friend, you know.”

 

“So, what is it you’re actually up to?” Thorin asked.

 

Tell the truth, Bilbo advised himself.  The closer to the truth you are, the less he’s likely to guess.

 

“Oh,” he said aloud, “I’m baking a huge cake for someone’s birthday.  It’s such a big construct that, in the end, I’ve had to bake it in segments.  I’ll show you when it’s finished.”

 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” said Thorin, suddenly wishing that he had at least asked Tauriel to bake him a small chocolate cake.  “I’ll be 277.”

 

“Really?” said Bilbo.  “Not a bad age.  Older than me, anyway.”  And he began to talk about the difficulties of working with different coloured icing and how they tended to run one into the other if you weren’t careful.”

 

“I’m not having a cake,” said Thorin.

 

“Well, never mind,” said Bilbo cheerfully, “I’ll save you a slice of my cake once the party’s over.  I’m sure there’ll be some left.”

 

Leftover birthday cake didn’t seem half as enticing as the real thing, thought Thorin as he plodded back to his forge.  There he found Mary Sue.  She was putting something into a pretty box and tying it with a blue ribbon.  “Something you’ve just made?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she said, it’s a present for someone I’m especially fond of.”

 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” sighed Thorin.  “I don’t want presents this year.”

 

“Well, perhaps next year, then,” she suggested and, picking up the box, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and set out for home.

 

He messed around for a bit in the forge but when he couldn’t maintain sufficient interest for more than an hour, he washed his hands and changed out of his dirty clothes, then wondered if Rosie and Beren were in.  They were, but when he knocked on the door, Beren only opened it a crack.  “Oh, it’s you, Thorin,” he said.  “I’m sorry, but Rosie and I are – you know.”

 

Thorin was full of embarrassed apologies and backed quickly away.  He stood looking at the view as the door clicked shut behind him and then kicked a stone in a desultory way down the hill, back to his own home.

 

Behind him, inside the house, Beren, Rosie and Tauriel were gasping with suppressed laughter.  “I thought he had caught us then,” giggled Rosie, “and I was desperately trying to think of an explanation as to why we’re all gathered in this room, sewing items of clothing.”

 

“And if I hadn’t opened the door,” added Beren, “I’m sure he would have peered in at the window.  I shan’t be able to look him in the face when we meet up next.”

 

“I daren’t go home,” laughed Tauriel.  “I’m sure you’ve put ideas in his head and I’ve just got too much to do before tomorrow.”

 

Yes, Beren had put ideas in Thorin’s head.  He was bored and, when his wife turned up an hour or so later, he was ready for a bit of a kiss and a cuddle – and anything else that might be on offer.  But Tauriel wriggled out of his arms and said she had to get on with making supper.  And she wasn’t interested when they went to bed that night either.  In fact, she seemed very restless and fidgeted a lot before she finally went to sleep, just like she had done on the previous night.

 

Thorin lay in the dark and found he was wide awake.  No birthday, no presents, no cake, no party and, to cap it all, not even a special bit of ‘you know’ to celebrate the event – well, the event that wasn’t being acknowledged this year.  Even Beren had got a bit of a treat – in the middle of the day – and his birthday wasn’t for another 6 months.  Thorin felt very hard done by.

 

He thought about birthdays past – and why he didn’t want to think about them any more – so why was he thinking about them?  He felt very irritated with himself but his mind seemed stuck in birthday mode and he just couldn’t think about anything else.

 

He remembered some wretched birthdays from his youth like the one when he had been a small child and he and Frerin had had a fight during which a number of his new toys had been broken.

 

But, he had to admit, there had been some good ones too.  There had been the time when his father, Thrain, who usually had no time for him, had given him his first adult axe and sword – and then he had spent the whole day with him, practising and training.  That had been a wonderful day.

 

And once, Dis had made a truly splendid cake and he and Frerin had gorged themselves on it until they had been sick.  But it had been worth it!

 

And, another time, when he had come of age, he had been allowed to invite just about everyone he liked and not just those thought appropriate company for a prince of Erebor.  And he had not only invited all his friends from amongst the dwarves but young lads from the town of Dale whom he had met whilst drinking at the inns there.  They had all had a riotous time together and he still remembered the strong sense of camaraderie that had blossomed that day between the two racial groups.

 

Thorin sighed.  Go to sleep, he told himself.  The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner your birthday will dawn and the sooner it will be over and done with.  And, in the end, he fell into a fitful doze wracked by restless dreams in which he tripped over a pile of presents in boxes tied with blue ribbon and fell headfirst into a giant birthday cake from which he emerged spluttering and covered in chocolate icing.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The next morning, when Thorin groggily surfaced, Tauriel was already up and dressed.  Not even an early morning kiss and a cuddle, then.  He wondered if she would wish him ‘Happy Birthday’ but she didn’t.  But, wasn’t this what he had wanted?  Well, yes…..and no.

 

“The lads need my help down at the harbour,” she said (meaning her former elven troop, some of whom were still in the area.)  “I’ll be gone all day, so don’t worry about me.  Your breakfast’s on the table.”  And with that she was gone – without even bothering to explain what it was she was helping the lads with.

 

Thorin got up.  He ate breakfast.  He worked briefly in his forge.  He dug his garden for a bit.  And then he sat down on his bench, feeling very grumpy and very unloved.

 

Suddenly, an elven messenger came riding up the hill with a letter from Ellandel.  It said:

 

_Dear Thorin_

_I am in the middle of organising an event at the Moot Hall and have been let down badly by someone who was supposed to be helping me.  Of course, I immediately thought of you and that sports’ event.  You have great organisational skills and I was wondering if you had time to come down here at about 2 pm, say, to rescue me from this mess.  It would be very much appreciated._

_Your servant_

_Ellandel_

Thorin felt inordinately pleased that the elf lord had thought of him – and on this day, too, when he was feeling so unwanted and ignored.  He sent a reply back with the messenger and then hastened to have his lunch and change into something more suitable.  He went through his wardrobe and chose something smart.  It would never do, he thought with a wry grin, to present himself to Ellandel in the wrong clothes, especially after all the effort his former tutor had gone to when teaching him about style and colour.  And then, off he strode, down the hill to the Moot Hall.

 

He glanced at the sundial high on the wall as he arrived: he was exactly on time and he was sure that Ellandel would be impressed by this further example of his efficiency.  The elf lord was waiting for him inside and greeted him with what appeared to be relief.  (He must be struggling, thought the dwarf.)

 

“I’m organising a bit of a do here,” he said.

 

“I can see that,” said Thorin.  All the tables and benches were set out, laid with white linen and vases of flowers.  “Very nice,” he added.  Then he noticed that the big curtain that was sometimes used in drama productions was drawn across the end of the hall.  “What’s going on there?” he asked.  “Are you putting on a play or something?”

 

“I’ll just show you,” smiled Ellandel.  “I’d like your opinion on this.  So if you’d just stand there.”  And he indicated a spot in the middle of the room.

 

Intrigued by what Ellandel was up to and wondering about his part in all this, Thorin stood on his spot and watched as the elf went over to a cord and gave it a yank.  The curtain dramatically fell away – to reveal a whole host of friends, including his family, who screamed delightedly, “Surprise!” and “Happy Birthday!”  And simultaneously from the great doors at both ends of the hall, two streams of people poured in, shouting and yelling the same greetings.

 

Thorin stood transfixed, his mouth opening and closing, struck dumb with shock.  Tauriel ran forward and, flinging her arms around him, kissed him enthusiastically on the lips.  “Happy Birthday, my love,” she whispered.  And everyone gathered around him laughing gleefully.

 

“You never guessed, did you?” giggled Poppy.

 

“We felt so cruel, grandfather,” said Rosie, kissing him on the cheek.  “We did a really good job of hiding all this from you and leading you to believe that we didn’t care.”

 

“Even I felt a bit mean about it,” grinned Lostwithiel.

 

“So, are you pleased or not?” asked Arion.

 

But Thorin still stood there stunned, unable to say a word.

 

“Well,” laughed Tauriel, “if you don’t say something soon, we shall just have to assume that you still don’t want a birthday party and we shall pack everything away.”

 

Thorin gulped.  If I say anything, I think I shall cry, he thought.  But he managed to stutter: “No, don’t pack it away.  This is just too wonderful.”  And they all cheered and some of the ladies had a bit of a sniff when they saw the emotion on his face.

 

“Come on,” said Bilbo, “you need to see this cake that I told you I was making for a good friend.”  And he dragged him over to the area which had been behind the curtain where a trestle table groaned under the weight of a totally MASSIVE birthday cake.  And then Thorin did let slip a tear because Bilbo had modelled a replica of the Lonely Mountain.  “It’s chocolate cake under all that icing,” he whispered.  And the icing work was quite beautiful and Thorin could see why the hobbit had worried about colours running together because he had treated the mountain like a painting and the colours were so subtle that, if he stood back and squinted, it all looked absolutely real.  And squatting on the top was a representation of Smaug, made out of marzipan and, winding their way up the side of the mountain were Thorin and his Company and, although they were all very tiny, each one was immediately recognisable.

 

“Brilliant!  Absolutely brilliant!” Thorin exclaimed and he wrapped Bilbo in an emotional bear-hug, the like of which the little hobbit hadn’t experienced since he had rescued the dwarf from Azog.

 

“It was nothing, honestly,” he muttered, his voice muffled by Thorin’s velvets.

 

“Well, if it was nothing,” laughed his friend, then you can bake me one like that every week!”  And he began to feel as if he were getting over the shock.

 

When he finally let go of Bilbo and turned back to the crowd, all of whom were grinning like idiots, he still felt amazed at the sheer number of people crammed into the large room.  Apart from his family and Bilbo, all his friends were there: Frodo, Gandalf, Elrond, Thranduil, Gimli and Legolas, Lithin and Challis, Borondin and Tagrith, along with all the elven troop from the outpost, Evanuil and Favreen with their neighbours from the elven tree houses, loads of people from the harbour area and from Elrond’s and Thranduil’s courts, Ellandel and the pupils that Thorin had got to know and like….. a huge number, but all of them he could claim as friends.

 

“Galadriel sends you greetings and birthday wishes,” smiled Elrond, “and so does Glorfindel – but he decided not to come because he wanted the focus to be all on you.”

 

How considerate, thought Thorin.

 

“And even Olorien sends his best wishes and his apologies for what happened between you in the past.  He’s learning,” the elf lord grinned.

 

And Thorin felt buoyed up by love and kindness.

 

“But, I didn’t want to remember my birthday,” he protested, “or how old I am.”

 

Elrond smiled: “This party is nothing to do with the number of your years.  This birthday is all about celebrating _you_ , not your age.”

 

And Thorin suddenly felt himself well-liked and well-loved.  “Thank you,” he said simply.

 

Then they all sat down and tucked into the delicious party food that his family had prepared.  “And I can’t tell you how difficult that was, trying to do it in secret,” said Poppy.

 

And, after the party food and a slice of the wonderful cake, there was the present-giving.  His family went first.

 

Arion and Mary Sue brought out the box tied up with blue ribbon.  “And you never guessed,” she laughed, “even though you saw me with the box.”

 

Inside was an exquisitely beautiful ear cuff, fashioned in gold.  “Lovely,” said Thorin.  “I shall put it on now and wear it every day.”

 

Then Lostwithiel and Poppy handed him 6 bottles of their finest wine.  “Fabulous,” said Thorin.  “I shan’t be sharing this with anyone.”

 

And Beren and Rosie handed over the leather gloves and the vambraces.  “Made by our own fair hand,” they laughed.  And Thorin admired the details and their skill.  “They remind me of what I wore on the Quest,” he said.

 

“And this should remind you of your Quest too,” put in Tauriel.  And she handed over a lovingly-crafted leather coat with a great fur collar. 

 

Thorin grinned.  “Ah, yes, my favourite coat.  I really missed it after you stripped me of it in Thranduil’s dungeons.  I used to feel like a bison in it, you know.”  And he slipped it on.

 

“You’ll get loads of cuddles in this,” said his wife, wrapping her arms around him and snuggling into the fur.

 

“Form an orderly queue,” he laughed jokingly to the assembled throng.  And then he was surprised when a lot of the ladies leapt to their feet and did just that.

 

“Later, later,” giggled Tauriel and she helped him take it off, whispering in his ear as she did so: “I’ve got a second present for you when we get home.”

 

Then everyone else came forward to give their presents too.  There were lots of boxes of chocolates and plants for his garden and tools for his forge and scarves and socks and boxes of handkerchiefs.  But Gimli gave him 6 bottles of his Middle-earth beer - “But don’t get drunk on it this time” – and Legolas gave him a delicate elven leaf brooch for his cloak and Elrond gave him a beautiful pouch full of leaf for his pipe.  “How on earth did you manage to get hold of this?” Thorin asked.

 

“Oh, I have ways,” replied the elf lord.

 

And Frodo presented him with a leather-bound book – very slim – and said quietly to him: “This is an Appendix to my manual.  It’s Gimli’s contribution and he’s permitted me to give it to you even though it’s not yet for general consumption.  So, I’m asking you to keep it to yourself until I give you the word.”  And Thorin nodded and thanked him.

 

Then all eyes turned towards Thranduil who sauntered forwards with a small, very beautifully carved box.  Inside was a gorgeously wrought piece of mithril – a sort of circular, strappy thingy, too big for a ring and too small for a bracelet.  “Does it come with an instruction manual?” grinned Thorin.

 

“No,” was the languid response.  “But, I’ll tell you all about it when you have a quiet five minutes.  It was made for me centuries ago by our finest elven smith.”

 

“So, it’s second-hand then?” Thorin asked provocatively.

 

“Regard it as an heirloom,” said Thranduil with a gracious bend of his head.

 

“And it’s been used?” Thorin pursued.

 

“But I did wash it,” was the reply.

 

Thorin put it gingerly back into its box and shut the lid.  “Thank you very much for thinking of me.”

 

“And Tauriel,” said Thranduil with a careless wave of his hand.

 

.o00o.

 

The family all went home after a long and happy day, taking turns to push a hand cart which was laden high with presents.  Tiredly they said goodnight to each other and Thorin shut his front door.

 

Then he grinned.  “What about this second present?” he asked.

 

“Well, go to bed,” said Tauriel, “and I’ll bring it into you.”

 

“Do you want me dressed or undressed?”  And his grin widened.

 

“Oh, undressed would be good,” she laughed.

 

And so Thorin hurried to get undressed and, jumping into bed, sat up against the pillows in expectation of his gift.

 

After five minutes, Tauriel stuck her head around the door.  “Ready?” she asked.

 

“I’m always ready,” he rumbled.

 

Then Tauriel glided seductively into the room – absolutely stark naked but with an enormous pink bow tied around her waist.

 

Thorin let out a hoot of laughter.  “What more could I want for my birthday?” he said and he swung his legs out of bed and, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulled her into his arms.  “Can I open it now?” he whispered in her ear; and he undid the knot so that the bow slid upon the floor. 

 

“Wait a moment,” she murmured, holding him at arm’s length, “there’s more.”

 

“More?!” he exclaimed.  “The mind boggles!”

 

But she turned around and glanced over her shoulder towards her left buttock.

 

Thorin sat with his mouth open in shock.  “A tattoo!” he finally managed to gasp.  And there on her bottom, in neat elven script, was his name: Thorin.

 

“I don’t believe it!” he whispered.  “Elves don’t get tattooed!  Is it fake?  Will it rub off?”

 

“No, it’s the real thing,” she said.  “Haven’t you noticed me fidgeting in bed these past few days?  The thing really hurt.  I couldn’t even bear to make love.”

 

“Is it all right now?” he asked anxiously.  “I’d be a bit annoyed if you were stoking up the fire and blocking up the chimney, so to speak.”

 

“No, my love, it’s absolutely fine today.”

 

And then Thorin seized her by the hips and, bending his head, kissed the tattoo firmly.  “Mmm,” he growled: “Absolutely delicious.”

 

And then he began to cry. Tauriel turned quickly and took him in her arms.  “What’s wrong, my love?” she asked.  But nothing was wrong.  Thorin just felt utterly overwhelmed by all the love he had been shown that day and his wife’s gift had finally broken him.

 

“I just love you so much,” he said.

 

“And I, you,” she whispered, pushing him gently back against the pillows, as she brushed away his tears and kissed him on the nose.

 

“That tattoo is a wonderful gift,” he sniffed.

 

“Then, let’s celebrate it,” she replied, as she pulled the coverlet over their heads.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Wow,” said Thorin, leaning over Tauriel’s shoulder as she typed the last words.  “What a day!”_

_“Glad you enjoyed it,” she smiled._

_“And now,” continued her husband, “I feel an urgent need to examine that tattoo again.”  And he pulled her to her feet._

_“I’ll let you see mine, if I can see yours,” she laughed cheekily._

_“It’s a deal!” agreed Thorin and he pulled her impatiently towards their bed.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Drama Society. Well, you know how Thorin used to tell his children stories “and do all the voices”? In this episode, he decides to put his talents to good use. Hope this one keeps you smiling.
> 
>  
> 
> And, if you enjoyed Thorin’s birthday, let me know.


	58. Thorin and the Drama Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our talented Thorin puts his acting skills to good use in this episode. But, will he be welcomed by the elves of the Valinor Drama Society and will his thespian abilities impress them? And if his stage role involves an awful lot of kissing, will Tauriel be best pleased, LOL?

 

 

.o00o.

 

 All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Drama Society

 

Pt I

 

“Oh, Thorin,” laughed Tauriel, “you really should consider going on the stage.”

 

They had just spent an amusing and delightfully sexy hour in bed indulging in a bit of role-play.  The idea had first come to them when the children had been small and the drudgery of their lives was threatening to overwhelm them.  And then, two of the Rohirrim had ridden into their lives with startling attitudes about sexual inequality and, one night, it had made for a funny half-hour when Thorin had pretended to be a domineering sexist pig like Thurstan of Rohan.  He had played his part so well and it had made them giggle so much that, occasionally, ever since, they would pretend to be other people when they were in bed with each other.

 

Tonight, Thorin had been Thranduil.  His imitation of the elven king’s arrogant voice had been spot on and he knew how to hold his head just so.  Tauriel found it odd that, although she wasn’t attracted to Thranduil, she _was_ attracted to Thorin pretending to be Thranduil.  “It’s like being in bed with two men at the same time,” she giggled, as she rolled off him.

 

They lay together and she reminisced about the way he used to tell the children bedtime stories and “did all the voices”.  Arion and Poppy, years later, still remembered this as a highlight of their childhood.

 

“You’re an amazing mimic,” said Tauriel.  “If I close my eyes, I can almost believe that I’m in bed with Thranduil.”

 

“Then I would prefer it,” commented Thorin, “if you kept your eyes wide open, just so that you know who’s who and what’s what.”

 

“Oh, no confusion,” his wife assured him, “I’d know this body anywhere – it’s very un-elf-like.”  And she tugged at the hair on his chest and made him yelp.  “But there’s something very sexy about Thranduil’s voice in your body.”

 

And after a bit of a naughty scuffle under the sheet, they settled down again to discuss Thorin’s acting abilities.

 

“You know,” said Thorin, “it’s funny you should say that, because I was only just thinking the other day that I might join the Drama Society.”

 

This group met every week down in the Moot Hall where they put on regular plays, some of which Thorin and Tauriel had seen over the years.  They were more enthusiastic than talented and Thorin wondered if he could bring something useful and different to the table.

 

“Well, at least if a dwarf features in their play, they could have a real dwarf,” laughed Tauriel.  “Those young elves who are chosen to play dwarves because they’re short are just so wrong.”

 

“I think I’d better write a story about it, then,” said Thorin.  “I quite fancy treading the boards.”  And he padded into the dining area, sat up at the table, opened the laptop and began to write:

 

Thorin and the Drama Society

 

_(“I’ll just make breakfast,” Tauriel whispered, trying not to interrupt his flow.)_

It was Ellandel, of course, who ran the Drama Society, just like he seemed to run most things, and Thorin asked if he could attend one of their monthly meetings.  “That would be delightful,” said Ellandel.  “It’s not often that we get fresh blood these days.”

 

And so, one golden autumnal afternoon, Thorin turned up at the Moot Hall where he was warmly greeted by the elf and introduced to the twenty members of the society, a mixed group of different ages and both sexes.  They were all dressed in a casual, bohemian manner, in the sort of clothing that immediately proclaimed ‘ _artiste_ ’.  Some already knew him and greeted him in a friendly manner; but others looked askance and questioned within themselves whether they really wanted a dwarf to be part of their rather cosy clique.  But, Ellandel’s reception of him helped and they made room for him on one of the benches.

 

One of the more senior members of the group, Aelran, who was reluctant to accept any change in the society after it had trundled along pretty smoothly for centuries, did make an initial attempt to get Thorin rejected.  “Of course,” he said smoothly, “although it is totally _lovely_ to have you in our midst, Thorin, we are a _drama_ society, not a social group, and it is incumbent upon all members to have the ability to _act_.”  (He was the sort of person who spoke in italics.)

 

Thorin nodded amiably and agreed that this was a very important characteristic for one who professed to be an _actor_.  “Would you like a little demonstration?” he asked.

 

And, yes, they would, and all eyes turned upon him with interest as he rose and stood before them.  “I’m a good mimic, my wife and children say,” he assured them.  “So, perhaps you’d like to see me do some people you might know.”

 

They were all acquainted with Bilbo and so Thorin made his voice higher and somehow managed to look smaller and cuter and then he fussed around as if he were making breakfast for them all (a sight that Thorin witnessed on a weekly basis).  When he had finished, they all clapped and laughed.  “I’d recognise him anywhere,” said a pretty elven woman called Kethaia.

 

“My wife is always very entertained by my Thranduil,” Thorin continued and then he seemed to transform before their eyes.  His eyes turned icy, his posture became arrogant and his voice took on a superior, languid tone.  When he addressed the group on their slovenly appearance and the importance of always putting on a good front if you were an elf, they all felt duly chastened.

 

“Thranduil to the life,” laughed Ellandel.  “If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe you were he.”

 

“That’s what my wife always says,” agreed Thorin, although he felt it utterly unnecessary to offer further details.

 

And then, for his last trick, he totally amazed them by doing Galadriel.  “I think my older women are especially good,” he said.  And they had to agree.  He didn’t exactly raise his voice in a silly, piping way, like so many men did when they were trying to portray women; but he changed the timbre so that it became rich and sensuous and he managed to capture her bell-like tones.  He seemed to drift as he walked and everyone forgot his beard and his black hair and could only see before them the vision that was Galadriel. 

 

“You’ve totally captured her posture,” gasped Kethaia.  “And you somehow look so tall.”

 

“I have Ellandel’s lessons to thank for that,” smiled Thorin in his old tutor’s direction.  “He spent many exhausting and fruitless hours trying to make me float like an elf.  But, I think we got there in the end.”  And the elf lord gave a modest nod of his head.

 

“Well,” said Ellandel, as Thorin sat down to loud applause, “I think there’s no doubt that you will be an asset to our little group.  Welcome to the Valinor Drama Society!”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

The Drama Society only put on two plays every year.  “We’d do more,” explained Ellandel, “but we like presenting original plays and Gillyn, here, our scriptwriter, can only churn out two a year.”

 

“I don’t know about ‘churn out’,” snapped Gillyn, a sharp-featured elf lord.  “You can’t ‘churn out’ a work of art.”

 

Ellandel raised an apologetic hand and continued: “We’re gathered here today to decide on a script for the early winter play which will be put on in a few months’ time.”  Then everyone began to throw suggestions backwards and forwards across the table whilst Thorin sat and quietly listened.  Most of the suggested story-lines were from elven history and mythology until Tianin, one of the younger female elves, suddenly looked up and said:  “I’ve had a really good idea!”  And she pointed to the painting of Thorin, Tauriel and Thranduil at the Battle of the Five Armies which hung so impressively on the wall behind them.  “Now that we have a famous dwarven warrior in our midst, why don’t we do a play about Thorin’s Quest – with Thorin as Thorin?”

 

Arnor, the artist involved and who was part of the group because he enjoyed designing the scenery, gave a pleased grin.  “Yes,” he agreed, “I’m sure that Gillyn will find my painting truly inspirational whilst he’s writing.”

 

A lot of positive muttering was running around the table but Thorin wasn’t so sure.  “The trouble is, there are 13 dwarves in this and you’ve only got me.”

 

“Don’t worry about that,” said Ellandel, “our younger members are used to playing dwarves.  Perhaps you saw our production of The Princess and the Poisoned Apple?  There were seven dwarves in that.”

 

“Er, yes,” said Thorin.  He waited in dread for the elf lord to ask his opinion because he found lying difficult.

 

“So, what did you think?”

 

“Well, er, I didn’t think they looked much like dwarves – we’re fighters, you know, and they had no tattoos or earrings or swords or axes.  And – umm – they sang a lot – and not our sort of deep-throated songs but rather jolly, hobbitty things.  And – er – they definitely didn’t walk like dwarves: they, ummm, floated like elves.  We stomp and walk as if we’ve got balls of stone, if you’ll excuse the expression, ladies,” he added politely, nodding towards the female elves.

 

Ellandel looked stricken and his lower lip wobbled.  “I was the voice and movement coach,” he said, “and you’re telling me that my dwarves didn’t walk or look or sound like dwarves.”

 

“’Fraid not,” muttered Thorin.  And then, just because it looked as though the elf was about to burst into tears, he hastened to say: “But you’re a marvellous voice and movement coach, Ellendel.  Look what you did with me!  However, you’re an elf who taught me to be an elf.  And I expect that, if you really wanted to do this, then, as a dwarf, I could have a go at teaching elves to be dwarves.”

 

Ellandel cheered up and everyone agreed that this was a good idea.  Then they pressed on and discussed the plot-line.  Thorin went through the main moments of his Quest whilst Gillyn made a few notes.  He furrowed his brow.  “So much happened to you that I don’t think I can tell the story in one play.”

 

“So, you’ll write it as two plays?” asked Thorin.

 

“It might even stretch to a trilogy.”

 

“Makes it more bankable,” grinned Ellandel who was also the Treasurer.

 

“But will people really want to wait for nearly two years before they find out the end of the story?” queried Thorin.

 

A gloom descended whilst they all tried jiggling around the various plot points.  And then Tianin finally smiled and said: “Well, I know what I would do.”

 

And, what was that, they wanted to know. 

 

“I’d strip the whole thing back to the basic romance between Thorin and Tauriel and then we could have just one play.  The action sequences would become side-issues.  I mean, how on earth are we meant to show wargs and trolls and dragons and goblin tunnels and the destruction of Lake Town on stage?  Perhaps we should only _hear_ characters talk about these moments, but we don’t necessarily have to _show_ them, especially if we hook our audience on what is happening between elf and dwarf.”

 

There was a lot of argument because the elf lords wanted to keep the action sequences whilst the ladies were sighing over the romance.  But, in the end, they had to admit that it was a very sensible idea.

 

“We can put all our technical efforts into the spiders, the barrel escape and the final battle,” said Arnor.  “I’m sure I could come up with some stage craft for those events.”  And they all had to be content with that.

 

After a few more arguments, it was decided that the play should start with an action sequence as a gesture to the elf lords.  “We should plunge into the middle of the story with the dwarves escaping from the giant spiders and Thorin meeting up with Tauriel for the first time,” decided Gillyn.

 

“But I met Tauriel six months before that at my forge,” grumbled the dwarf.

 

“Sorry,” explained Gillyn patiently, “things that happen in real life don’t necessarily translate well to the stage.  I think it will work better this way: you meet, you look, you love!  Pow!  Very dramatic!”

 

Well, what did Thorin know about anything?  And so he shut up.

 

.o00o.

 

But he continued to grumble to Tauriel as they lay in bed that night.  “They want a love-at-first-sight romance,” he complained.

 

“But, wasn’t it?” asked Tauriel, kissing him gently.  “There was an immediate attraction but we denied it until months later, when we got to Lake Town.”

 

“And finished up in bed,” grinned Thorin, pulling her into his arms.

 

“They’re not going to show that moment, are they?” asked Tauriel, aghast.

 

“Sorry, Tauriel,” muttered Thorin guiltily.  “I couldn’t persuade them otherwise.  It gets pretty intense in Thranduil’s dungeons too.  And, ahem, there’s a love triangle with Thranduil.”

 

Tauriel rolled her eyes but then had to admit that there was a small element of truth in this.

 

“But they’ve seized hold of the idea and run with it,” moaned Thorin.

 

“Well, at least you’ll be there to stop them from their worst excesses,” considered the elf.

 

“You hope,” was the gloomy response.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

A month later, they all gathered together to read copies of the script.  The play, entitled _To the Mountain and Beyond_ , followed Thorin and Tauriel from Mirkwood to Lake Town to Erebor to the Battle of the Five Armies to Thorin’s survival to his rejection of Tauriel and finally their reunion.

 

“Aww,” everyone sighed.

 

It could have been worse, thought Thorin.

 

Then they held auditions.

 

“Thorin, of course, will play himself,” said Ellandel.

 

“So, what about if Tauriel plays Tauriel and Thranduil plays Thranduil and Bilbo plays Bilbo?” asked Thorin.

 

They all sighed at his lack of understanding.

 

“Because,” said the officious Aelran, “they are _not_ members of our Society and they are not _actors_.  And, if we give all the _best parts_ away, there won’t be any _decent stuff_ left for the rest of us.”

 

“Fair enough,” said Thorin.

 

So, after Thorin was selected, they then held auditions for the other roles with Ellandel acting as casting director and Aelran sitting next to him as his assistant.

 

Tauriel was a difficult part to cast because she had to have chemistry with Thorin.

 

“I’ve written a little audition scene between the two of them,” revealed Gillyn, “and I want all eight ladies in our group to try for Tauriel.”

 

There was an immediate scuffle as the eight pretty elves formed a rather disorderly queue.  Then the script was handed out and all the rest of the group sat back to pass critical judgement.

 

Thorin’s eye flickered down the page.  Oh, no, he thought.

 

“Now,” urged Ellandel, “I want you to show some passion here, especially when you get to the kiss at the end.”

 

The eight ladies grinned gleefully, whilst Thorin wondered why it had never occurred to him that he would have to kiss other women if he became an actor.

 

It was a short scene depicting Thorin’s meeting with Tauriel at the Lake Town mansion.  The script went something like this:

 

_THORIN:_   _Tauriel, why have you followed me here?  I must set out for the Mountain tomorrow and may never return._

_TAURIEL:_ _(throws arms around his neck) Thorin, I know you may never return which is why I had to see you one last time._

_THORIN:_   _Alas, Tauriel, there is nothing here for you because I must fulfil my Quest._

 

_TAURIEL:_   _But, I must feel your strong arms about me before you go, your lips on my lips and your body pressed against mine._

 

_THORIN:  If I hold you in my arms, I shall never let you go._

 

_TAURIEL:_   _Then hold me, kiss me, love me, Thorin, and take me to your bed._

 

_(They kiss passionately.)_

“Hmm,” said one of the elf lords called Lanwyn, as they all studied the little scene.  “This is rather immoral, isn’t it?  I mean, they haven’t even exchanged silver rings.  I’m very surprised to discover an elf being so lascivious.  Do you think this should be changed in case it corrupts our young people?”

 

“Do you want a punch on the nose?” asked Thorin calmly. He had always thought his relationship with Tauriel had been very beautiful and it had never occurred to him that people might question his wife’s morality.

 

The eight ladies fluttered around him soothingly.  They wanted nothing changed about the scene.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” they whispered.  “He’s an old prude.”

 

And Ellandel finally resolved things when he announced that he was perfectly happy with the scene and that nothing was going to be changed.

 

So the ladies got back in their queue again and the auditions began.

 

All the ‘Tauriels’ threw themselves into the scene, body and soul, grasping Thorin in a variety of passionate tackles and, unfortunately for Thorin, they all used their tongues.

 

Thorin, meanwhile, did his best to pretend that he was back in Lake Town, making love to Tauriel for the first time.

 

“Ah,” commented Ellandel, “I see you’re a method actor, Thorin.”

 

Kethaia finally got the part of Tauriel, much to Thorin’s relief.  She seemed like a nice woman and she wasn’t _quite_ as aggressive as the other seven.

 

Then Bilbo, Thranduil, Bard and Balin were chosen as the other lead players and the shortest elves, of both sexes, were chosen to be the dwarves.

 

“No-one will notice,” said Thorin, “when they’re all padded out in fat suits.”

 

They were sent off home to learn their lines in time for a first run-though a week later.  Arnor had already started designing the scenery and the costumes, and volunteers from amongst the members’ wives were sought for a sewing circle where they could get together and work on the clothes.

 

“So, what have you been doing all day?” asked Tauriel when he got home that evening.

 

“Kissing a long line of beautiful elven ladies,” said her husband.

 

Tauriel blinked.

 

“Well, it _is_ a romance,” said her husband.  “And, by the way, would you like to help with the costumes?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Six weeks later, _To the Mountain and Beyond_ was ready for performance.  Such entertainment was very popular and the run had been sold out.  Thorin’s family and close friends were there for Opening Night to give him much-needed support.  “I feel a panic attack coming on,” he said to Tauriel, as he set out for his makeshift dressing-room.

 

They were all incredibly excited as they took their seats and Poppy and Arion were convinced that their father was going to be a great success.  “Do you remember his wonderful story-telling, Arion?” asked Poppy.  “If he acts as well as that, he’ll be brilliant.”

 

When the torches were finally extinguished, leaving only the candles alight, they could hardly contain themselves.  And, as the curtains drew back, a frisson swept through the entire audience.  The opening scene was set in a dark and gloomy Mirkwood, but a group of elves, including Tauriel, sat in one corner, feasting and laughing and playing sweet music.  The audience joined in with the well-known chorus.

 

Then, Thorin and a number of the dwarves stumbled on stage, pursued by giant spiders and the audience gasped in horror.  “Oh, that’s so well done,” whispered Rosie to Tauriel.  And, indeed, it was.  The spiders were huge puppets manipulated by a group of actors, all dressed in black, so that you hardly noticed them.  There followed a horrifying attack upon the dwarves who put up a noble struggle.  But it wasn’t until the brave group of elves leaped to their aid that the spiders were killed and the audience gave ‘their men’ a rousing cheer.

 

“Oh, well done!” shouted Lostwithiel, remembering the terror of Mirkwood and Thranduil’s heroic troops who had confronted these monsters on a daily basis.

 

But, after killing the spiders, the elves turned on the dwarves who seemed to be weak and starving and, for the most part, weaponless.  They had soon captured them and tied their hands.  “We shall see what our king has to say about your presence here,” said ‘Tauriel’ to Thorin.  But, as they stood facing each other, there was a long, intense pause as they gazed into each other’s eyes and an elven quartet who were sitting to one side of the stage, played a burst of romantic music.

 

“It didn’t really happen like that,” whispered Tauriel.

 

It was a phrase she found herself repeating constantly throughout the performance.

 

In the next scene, set in Thranduil’s dungeons, Thorin and Tauriel enjoyed an ardent kiss through the bars of his prison cell.  And then ‘Thranduil’ came down the stairs in time to witness their passion and, in a jealous rage, threatened to execute Thorin on the spot.  The audience, already warming to the two main leads, clutched their seats anxiously.  But, the execution was delayed until the following day – great sighs of relief all round - and it was time for the Great Escape.

 

Visually, the Barrel Scene was Arnor’s _tour de force_.  The curtains were shut for a long time whilst intriguing bumps and thumps could be heard.  When they were finally drawn back, a ‘river’ was depicted, running along the back wall of the stage from one side to the other, the ‘water’s edge’ concealed by bushes and tall grasses.  Then, a line of barrels containing the dwarves appeared on the left.  They gave the impression of floating downstream but, actually, they were on little casters which enabled the actors to push them along through the open bottoms with their feet.  The actors had practised for weeks, trying to make this look realistic, rocking the barrels from side to side and occasionally spinning them in a circle.

 

“The most fun you can have with your clothes on,” Thorin had laughed, thoroughly enjoying the ride.  But the elves had blinked at his remark, showing a total lack of understanding of his joke.

 

The worst thing about this scene was the ‘added extra’.  On the opening night, Arnor had decided that the scene needed a touch more realism and he and some of the others stood in the wings chucking buckets of water over Thorin and Co.  The audience thoroughly enjoyed this.  The actors didn’t.  “Yes, definitely like the real thing,” Thorin said afterwards.  “Worse luck.”

 

But, the scene that the audience enjoyed the most, was the one where Thorin and ‘Tauriel’ declared their love for each other and Thorin picked up the elf and swept her to his bed.  Of course, the curtain was dropped speedily at this point, but the ladies were left fanning their pink cheeks and there seemed to be quite a lot of heavy breathing from the rest of the audience.

 

“And I suppose,” grinned Lostwithiel, “that this scene didn’t happen like that either.”

 

“Well, actually,” replied Tauriel tartly, “it did!”

 

.o00o.

 

And so, the story moved on until they reached The Battle of the Five Armies – very noisy and violent – and the last moving scene between Thorin and his love.  The audience responded with a mixture of smiles and tears, followed by thunderous applause.

 

“Amazing!” said Arion.

 

“Oh, my wonderful father!” giggled Poppy.

 

“He’ll never live it down!” laughed Lostwithiel.

 

“Too much kissing,” said Tauriel.

 

But they all agreed that this had been more enjoyable than anything they had experienced in a long time.

 

When the actors came out to take their bows, the applause for Thorin was deafening.

 

“I think they liked him,” concluded Rosie.

 

And, yes, not only had they liked him as a character within the play, but it had also raised his status in the community.

 

“To be honest,” as one elf said to Tauriel afterwards, “I never really approved of your relationship.  But, now I don’t understand what all the fuss was about.  That was such a fantastic love story.”

 

“Epic!” as a bunch of young elves said to Thorin whilst he signed some autographs.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“And, no,” said Thorin as he finished typing and Tauriel handed him his breakfast, “that wasn’t me doing all the boasting about how wonderful I am.”_

_“Of course not, my love,” smiled Tauriel.  “It was the laptop.  That’s what they all say.”_

_Then she gripped him by the plaits and pulled his lips firmly against her own: “But,” she murmured, “did you really have to write in all that kissing?”_

_“Well,” grinned Thorin, “it was the truth.  We did do a lot of kissing at the time – and we still do.”_

_“But, if you ask me, you seemed to be enjoying yourself a tad too much up on that stage.”_

_“That’s because of my powerful imagination,” Thorin explained.  “I just imagined it was you.”_

_“Time, then, to make up for all those kisses you gave my alter ego,” murmured Tauriel, and she pushed him back upon the dining room table and pressed her lips passionately upon his once more.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did! I really wish I could have seen that play, LOL!
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter: Thorin and the Bucketball Match. So, what’s bucketball, you may well ask? Read next week’s story and find out. It’s just another thing that Thorin organises to relieve the tedium of life in Valinor. And it also brings about another confrontation between Thorin and Thranduil as they face each other on two different teams!


	59. Thorin and the Bucketball Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin isn’t performing as well as Tauriel would like. So, what can he do about it? Well, there’s always Bucketball!

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Bucketball Match

 

Pt I

 

“Again?” asked Tauriel.

 

“I don’t think so, my love,” gasped Thorin.  “I think I’ve had enough for tonight.”

 

Tauriel looked concerned.  “Are you alright?  It’s unusual for you to run out of steam so quickly.”

 

Thorin went on the defensive.  “Well, I _am_ 277 years old,” he said.

 

“Rubbish,” said his wife.  “I’m a lot older than that, so it’s nothing to do with age.  I reckon that you don’t get enough exercise.”

 

“Of course I do,” snorted the dwarf.  “I’m always hammering in my forge or digging in my garden.  Isn’t that enough?”

 

“Just tinkering, I’m afraid, my love, compared to all the heavy work and weapons training you used to do.”

 

“Well, what do you suggest, then?” he grumbled.  “I can’t make work out of thin air and the young elves I used to train have either grown up and moved away or got married and have other things to absorb them.”

 

“Mmmm,” the elf said thoughtfully.  “What about those dwarven games you used to tell me about – you know, the ones you used to play to help you keep fit in between the goblin wars?  The elves have nothing like it and I reckon you could get them interested.”

 

“Nope.  I just don’t see it,” said Thorin.  “Not their sort of thing at all.”

 

“That’s really defeatist,” snapped Tauriel, who was  thinking what a good suggestion she had made.  “And, just for that, I’m going to write a story about it this very minute.”

 

And despite Thorin’s protests, she jumped from the bed and went in search of the laptop.

 

Thorin and the Football Match _(she typed.)_

“I’ve come visiting with an idea, Ellendel,” said Thorin as he plonked a bottle of wine and two glasses down on the table of the elf lord’s office.  “You’re the one to go to if anyone needs something organised in this place.”  And he poured out a glass for both of them.

 

Ellendel raised his glass to Thorin with a pleased smile.  It was nice to be appreciated and needed.  Not everyone understood just how he kept so much running so smoothly like the dwarf did.  Thorin had grown on him steadily since the moment he had first met him and now he was one of his favourite people.

 

“So, tell me about the idea,” he said.

 

“Well,” said Thorin, “the longer I live here, the more out of shape I seem to become.  I never do the same amount of physical work, nor do I spend the same number of hours honing my fighting skills as I did on Middle-earth.  Instead, I eat more and drink more,” (and here he raised his glass), “which might be fun but the end result is not exactly satisfactory.”

 

Ellendel nodded thoughtfully.  “I know what you mean.  For the first time in my existence, I am developing a – ahem – bit of a paunch.  You’d never believe that I was one of the great warriors of the Last Alliance and fought alongside Elrond.”

 

Then he looked up hopefully.  “You haven’t come with a solution, have you?”

 

“Perhaps,” laughed Thorin.  “But it all depends on whether or not you think that people will join in.”

 

“Let’s hear it, then,” said the elf lord.

 

Thorin tried to get his thoughts in order, ready to give Ellandel his pitch.  “Do you, by any chance, happen to know what dwarves used to do during the more peaceful interludes between the goblin wars so that they were still fighting fit when the time came?”

 

“No, actually,” said the elf curiously, “I don’t.”

 

“Well, they used to play games,” was the response.

 

Ellandel was puzzled: “You mean, like chess?”  And he wondered how on earth this had kept the dwarves fighting fit.

 

Thorin let out a bark of laughter.  “No, I mean like ‘Tossing the Orc’.”

 

The elf looked even more flummoxed.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Could you run that past me again?”

 

“Right,” said Thorin.  “An area of so many square miles, with a village or a hamlet at either end, would be designated as the playing area.  Then the local population would be divided up into two and these would be called ‘sides’ or ‘teams’.  And two colours like red and blue would be chosen to denote each side and you would wear the colour of your particular side or team.  Are you with me so far?” he asked.

 

Ellandel was beginning to look intrigued and he nodded his head.

 

Thorin continued: “Now, the game of Tossing the Orc was originally called this because it was played with an orc head.  The referee, a man chosen to make sure that no-one cheated, would toss the orc head into the centre of the two assembled sides and both of them fought to get possession.  And once someone got possession of the head, they were fair game.  You could run with it, kick it, toss it to a neighbour – do anything to move it along, in fact.  But, anyone from the other team could jump on you, grab it from you, intercept it mid-air, whatever, just so that their side could get possession and move it in the opposite direction.”

 

“But, move it where?” asked Ellandel, wincing slightly at the barbaric nature of this game.

 

“Move it towards their own home village, of course.  It usually lasted all day, with the head moving backwards and forwards until one side would at last make a break-through and get it into their territory.  A special hole was dug in the centre of each village green and the first side to lob the head into the hole was the winner.  I played it on quite a few occasions,” Thorin added.  “It was very exciting, absolutely exhausting but very good exercise.”

 

The elf sat with his mouth open.  “They’ll never buy it,” he said.

 

Thorin sighed.  “I told Tauriel as much.  But what do you think the problem is?”

 

“Where do I start?” said Ellandel. 

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“Go on, then,” said Thorin.  “Tell me the worst.”

 

“Well,” said Ellandel, trying to break the news gently, “the most objectionable thing is the use of an orc head.  First, we don’t have any orc heads and, secondly, the whole idea is enough to put any decent elf off the idea in the first place.”

 

“No problem,” said Thorin.  “Orc heads were only used when the game was first invented.  In more recent years, we used a large leather ball stuffed with straw and feathers.”

 

“Then, if that’s the case,” mused the elf, “then the idea’s in with a chance – although you’ll have to change the name, I think, so that there’s no mention of orcs.”

 

And so, for the next five minutes, they discussed names and came up with: ball-in-the-hole; toss-a-ball; village scrum; us and them; break-a-leg; grab-a-ball; fight-your-way-home; reds and blues; team ball; and a hundred others.  Finally, they decided that the simplest and catchiest name was: football!  “There’s a ball and you use your foot,” said Ellandel.

 

“Amongst other things,” remarked Thorin, but he agreed that this was by far the best name they had come up with all afternoon.

 

“Do you think there’ll be any other objections?” asked Thorin.

 

“Hmm, well, I can think of a few,” said Ellandel.  “It’s a dwarvish thing, for one.  However, you’ve built up plenty of respect for dwarves here, Thorin, and if you lead, a lot may follow.  But, for another thing, it’s a pretty violent sport, unlike a contest of arms which abides by a set of rules.  This is a no-holds-barred sort of thing and some might not like the idea of a free-for-all or want to chance breaking some bones.  I’m assuming a lot of breakages happened when you played it?” he asked.

 

“Yes, but not as many as you might imagine because we dwarves are pretty sturdy.  I don’t know what will happen if a bunch of elves are involved.  They might not throw themselves into things so whole-heartedly.”

 

“Don’t rely on us being less than whole-hearted when you’re tackling us,” grinned Ellandel, “or you might get a nasty surprise.  I can’t see anyone standing back with a polite ‘after you’.  We’re in it to win it as much as anyone.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” the dwarf grinned.  “I’m looking forward to an encounter.  Hope you join the opposite team!”

 

“So, how shall we go about this?” was Ellandell’s next thought.  “I think you should be the captain of one team, Thorin.  Who do you reckon would make a good captain for the other?”

 

Thorin snorted and said without hesitation:  “Thranduil, of course.  The two of us are very competitive and neither of us could bear to let the other one win.  Whenever our teams played, it would be a real needle-match.”

 

“Well,” smiled Ellandel, “that expression’s new to me but I can guess what it means.  The more needling the better, I would say.”

 

And they arranged to visit Thranduil together at his palace the next day.

 

.o00o.

 

“You must be joking,” said Thranduil with a sneer after they had spent half an hour explaining the principles of ‘football’ to him the following day.  “You expect me to scuffle on the ground with all and sundry in pursuit of a stupid ball?  I do think this – game – is beneath the consideration of a king.”

 

“Well, I’m a king,” shrugged Thorin, “and I played it quite frequently back in Erebor.”

 

Thranduil raised a languid eyebrow.  “Well, do you really want me to list the differences between you and me, Thorin?” he asked.

 

“No,” snapped Thorin.  “I’ll list them for you, if I may.”  And he began to strike them off on his fingers.  “One, I’m always willing to join in and you’re not; two, I’m stronger than you are which might affect your attitude towards a physical game; three, I enjoy the company of people and don’t care about their status, like you do; four, I worry about my fitness levels, but perhaps you don’t; five, I’m fitter than you are at the moment and I want to keep things that way……”

 

“Hey!  Stop right there!” snapped the elven king.  “What’s all that rubbish about you being fitter than me?”

 

“Remember our mancation?” asked the dwarf with an unpleasant smile.  “You hardly made it up the first hill and we had to stop.”

 

“Oh, no,” contradicted the elf, “we stopped for you, if I remember correctly.”

 

“Didn’t it ever occur to you,” snarled Thorin, “that I was behaving in a considerate way and was trying to help you save face?”

 

From his startled look, it actually hadn’t occurred to Thranduil.

 

“Which leads me to six: I’m a team player who believes in looking after other members in the group whilst you are only concerned about yourself.”  At this point, Thorin ran out of breath and paused to glare at the elf lord.

 

“He’s made some valid points.”  Ellandel spoke quietly into the heavy silence.  “I really do think that this idea deserves your consideration.”

 

“And,” added Thorin, knowing his man well, “we need a captain for the blue team and, if you won’t join us, then we shall have to ask someone else.”

 

“A captain?  Someone else?” asked Thranduil stiffly.  “And who might that be?”

 

“Gimli, of course,” said Thorin.  “He’s the only person, apart from me, who has ever played this game and so he seems to be the most suitable candidate.  I was only going to ask you out of courtesy for your position.  You know: two kings, two teams, two captains?”

 

“Well,” said Thranduil smoothly, “if it’s captains we’re talking about…….you should have said.  And, Gimli?  No, I don’t think so,” he added dismissively.  “Leading is not at all his thing.”

 

“So,” said Thorin with a slyly triumphant grin on his face, “are you saying that you want to join us and that you are willing to captain one of the teams?”

 

“But, of course,” replied Thranduil with an airy wave of his hand.  “Didn’t I make myself clear?”

 

“As mud,” muttered the dwarf under his breath.  But Ellandel touched him warningly on the arm.

 

“What marvellous news,” the administrator said to the elven king ingratiatingly.  “Shall we discuss our plans further?”  And, in response, Thranduil invited them both to sit down at his great conference table.

 

.o00o.

 

“So,” said Thranduil, “I assume that you two have already worked out how we are going to get this thing off the ground?”  And his tone implied that, if they hadn’t, then he was not surprised that they had called him in to help.

 

“Of course we have,” replied Thorin curtly (and much to the elf king’s disappointment).

 

“We had planned, my lord – and only with your permission, of course,” intervened Ellandel in emollient tones - “to make two places the ‘goals’ for each team: one will be the green outside the Moot Hall in the harbour town and the other will be the front lawn of your palace.”

 

“My front lawn!” exclaimed Thranduil indignantly.  “And you plan to dig a hole in it?!  I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find somewhere else.”

 

Ellandel turned to Thorin and pulled a face.  “I must admit,” he said, “that I also feel rather unhappy about a hole in our green.”

 

“Well,” shrugged Thorin, “how about a very large bucket at each spot?  It really makes no difference as long as the ball comes to rest in a designated place.”

 

And so, a bucket it was.  After which, they changed the name to Bucketball!

 

Ellandel had a list of everyone who lived in and around the two ‘goals’.  “I’ve just included the male inhabitants at the moment,” he said, “although females are allowed to join in and add their names if they wish.”

 

“Yes,” suggested Thorin, “Tauriel, Rosie and Challis all belonged to the outpost.  They’re pretty tough and they might want to be part of this.  But not Poppy,” he laughed.

 

“I’ll organise a meeting so that everyone knows what this is all about and then pin up these lists so that people can tick off their names.  They can play in the teams according to how close they live to the respective buckets and anyone who lives outside the area or in between I shall place in teams according to how the numbers are going.  Then each of the captains can meet with their teams for instruction and practice before the first game – which I suggest takes place in two weeks’ time.”

 

“And if everyone enjoys themselves,” said Thorin, “it might be a good idea to plan for a match every weekend.  That should help to keep us fit.”

 

“Well,” said the elf king, “I see you have it all under control.  Just let me know when you need me.”  And with an elegant wave of his hand, he drifted from the room.

 

.o00o.

 

The Moot Hall was packed to the rafters.  Rumours had been spreading about this ‘game’ and many of the elves were quite excited at the thought of taking part.  Ellandel, Thorin, Thranduil and Gimli were there to explain all about it (although some people noticed that Thranduil offered no input whatsoever except to say that, of course, he would be captain of one of the teams) and, after a thorough explanation of Bucketball, there was a pretty lively Q&A session.

 

“It’s a pity we don’t have any orc heads,” laughed some of them.  “That sounds like fun.”

 

Thranduil tutted at Thorin and said in an undertone that he was always very disappointed when rather barbaric dwarven attitudes filtered into elven culture.  “I don’t think that anyone would have found that idea funny before you came,” he said with a sniff.

 

“No,” grinned Thorin.  “You were a pretty staid lot before I came – very prim and proper.”  And the elven king rolled his eyes as Ellandel agreed with him.

 

“So,” asked one of the fashion-conscious younger elves, “do we just wear anything red or blue we happen to have lying about the house, or do we wear different coloured arm-bands or do we have special shirts made in the appropriate colours?”

 

“Oh,” replied Gimli, “special shirts, don’t you think, to give us all some uniformity?  Any old clothes could cause confusion and arm-bands can be discoloured quickly by the mud.”

 

“Mud?” said Thranduil with a worried look.

 

They had a vote on it and special shirts it was.  “Will the ladies mind if we ask them to make them?” Thorin asked Tauriel, who was standing next to him.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” replied the elf.  “It will be their contribution to the fun since I can’t see many joining in the first time around.  And they _will_ reap the benefits of all this exercise – hopefully,” she added with a grin.

 

“Can we give the teams names?” asked one little lad with bright, excited eyes.  He was too young to play but he wanted to be involved.

 

“Good idea,” said Thorin.  “It will improve team spirit.  We can choose our names at the first get together.”

 

Questions were raised about practical things like food and drink throughout the day and medical help should anyone have an accident and Poppy volunteered along with some of her friends to keep supplies of cold drinks and light snacks available whilst Gandalf and Elrond thought they could organise an emergency team which would see to broken limbs and the like.

 

Then, everyone who wanted to participate ticked off their names on the list and Ellandel, in his usual efficient manner, allocated them to either the red or the blue team and gave a date for the first practice.

 

“I think that went really well,” said Thorin as the crowd departed, chattering and laughing excitedly amongst themselves.

 

“Everything I do goes well,” commented Thranduil, as he rode arrogantly away.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thorin’s red team had gathered together on the grassy plain just outside the harbour where the sports event that Thorin had organised had been held.  “I don’t think we would get any exercise at all if it wasn’t for you,” commented one of the elves who had once lived in the tree houses below the forge and whom Thorin had trained in the use of various weapons.

 

“Well, Bucketball isn’t exactly sporting,” warned the dwarf.  “You can forget all those rules that were enforced on that sports day.”

 

There were more than a hundred on his team and it included members of his own family, Ellandel – “What a shame! I wanted you to be on the other side!” – the elves who lived or had lived in the neighbouring tree houses and Tauriel’s troop who still lived in the harbour.  Tauriel, Rosie and Challis had decided to join in – to encourage the other women next time – but Poppy and Mary Sue weren’t interested and the two hobbits thought they would be crushed in the fray.  “Wise decision,” said Thorin.

 

But, even those who weren’t playing had come to watch.

 

Thorin started off with a hearty speech about how they were going to win and they all cheered.  Then he began to demonstrate tactics.  “It isn’t all a stupid scramble for the ball,” he said.  “It’s more like a battle and involves some skill and various strategic moves.  If you think about what’s going on around you and how best to wrest the ball from your opponent and what you’re going to do with it once you’ve got it, then we’re in with a chance of winning.”

 

He “volunteered” Lithin, a tall and muscular ex member of Tauriel’s troop and asked him to step forward, then put the ball in his hand.  Lithin took it cautiously, being well-used to Thorin’s methods of weapon training.  Then a smallish youth was also beckoned forward and told to get the ball from Lithin’s hands.  Lithin just grinned and held it in the air, well out of reach, whilst the young lad batted at it in an ineffectual way.  When he tried to grab Lithin’s sleeve, the elf lord just placed a hand upon his chest and held him at arm’s length.  The assembled team started giggling.

 

Then Thorin took the young lad to one side and whispered in his ear.  The youth grinned.  “Really?” he said.

 

“Really,” said Thorin.

 

Then the young man faced Lithin once more and started to walk towards him.  But, at the last moment, he broke into a run and, flinging himself at Lithin’s ankles, knocked him from his feet and grabbed the ball.

 

“I’ve got it!” he crowed triumphantly, holding the ball above his head, whilst Lithin grinned ruefully and the crowd clapped.

 

Thorin split them all into pairs and showed them various other ways to tackle – and resist – an opponent.  Then he put them into small groups and showed them how it was then ‘a different ball game’ – very funny, they said.  As a mob, they could use their strength of numbers and even do quite athletic things like heaving a companion up in the air to grab the ball.  “And that’s where the younger ones or the ladies are useful.  I doubt very much if you’d want to heave me up into the air,” laughed the dwarf.

 

They practised all day until they had many of the moves off pat.  “I can’t see us losing this,” remarked one elf smugly.

 

“Don’t underestimate the other team,” warned Thorin.  “At this precise moment, they will be practising exactly the same sort of exercises with Gimli.”

 

At the end of the day, they all sat down to have a drink and to decide upon a name for themselves.

 

“It needs to be an aggressive name, to show that we mean business,” suggested one of them.  And they all agreed.  Names were put forward and rejected: The Elven Orcs, Thorin’s Trolls, The Harbour Harriers, The Valinor Valiants.  But none appealed to all of them.  In the end, they were all rather taken with Tauriel’s suggestion: The Mountain Eagles.

 

“Eagles have played a huge role in the history of Middle-earth,” she said.   “They soar – as we shall – they are powerful and intelligent and, in the end, they always win the day.”

 

This explanation received an enthusiastic round of applause.

 

“So, The Mountain Eagles it is,” smiled Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

The night before the Big Match, Tauriel bundled Thorin into bed.  “You must be very excited,” she said.  “Is the adrenaline pumping?”  And she began to drag his nightshirt over his head.

 

But Thorin pulled the hem of his shirt down and stayed her hand.

 

“Sorry, Tauriel,” he said righteously.  “All the team should refrain from sex tonight, including you, so that we’ll be on top form for tomorrow’s game.  I’d appreciate it very much if you would turn over and not tempt me in any way.”  And he shut his eyes with a determined expression on his face.

 

Tauriel’s jaw dropped.  “Hey,” she said, giving him a poke in the ribs.  “I thought the whole object of the exercise – this exercise – was to stoke up the fires of your passion!”

 

“Well, so it is,” said the dwarf, “but, not tonight, Tauriel.”  And he turned away from her and fell quickly asleep.

 

.o00o.

 

The two teams met in a field halfway between Thranduil’s palace and the harbour.  Both were wearing their team’s colours but that’s where the similarity ended.  Thorin’s team were each wearing a simple short-sleeved tunic – “with no grabbable bits” as the dwarf put it.  But Thranduil’s lot were wearing beautiful, long-sleeved silken shirts, elegantly styled.

 

“His vanity got the better of him,” laughed Thorin.  “I bet there was a bit of a row with Gimli over those.”  And he grinned across at his dwarven friend who glared sullenly back.  And the entire red team were delighted to see the measure of the elf king’s stylistic folly.

 

“We are met here today,” said Elrond who was acting as the chief referee along with the two hobbits and Gandalf, “The Mountain Eagles” – and he gestured towards the red team – “and The Palace Panthers” – and he gestured towards the blue team who had obviously had similar thoughts about adopting a fierce name – “to take on each other in a friendly Bucketball match.  No holds barred and the first to land the ball in the home bucket is the winner!”  At this, he tossed the ball so that it landed in the middle of the massed ranks of contestants.

 

Gimli and Thorin were the most alert to the vagaries of the ball-toss and Thorin, jumping high in the air, came down clutching it in his arms.  But, before anyone could grab it from him, he had thrown it smartly to the perimeter where Tauriel was waiting in expectation of precisely this very thing happening.  She caught it, turned and ran with the whole pack howling after her.

 

She got some distance before they brought her down and then the ball was travelling back in the other direction.  And, by the time that the red team had it once more, they were back to square one, in the centre of the field.

 

This fruitless to and fro went on for hours but, slowly, the red team began edging in the home direction.  Everyone was bruised and covered in mud after the heavy rainfall on the previous day and the blue team’s beautiful shirts were torn and ragged.  But all their faces were alight with excitement and no-one looked ready to drop out.

 

The ladies and the young lads were doing very well: they were small and fast and wriggled into the centre of heaving masses, managing to snatch the ball from unsuspecting fingers, and the elf lords couldn’t help but hold their punches when faced with youth or female beauty.  “Idiots!” grinned Tauriel as she barrelled into someone in possession of a ball with an almighty thwack, whilst the member of the opposition tried hard not to hurt her.  Make the most of it, she thought to herself, because next time they will have learned their lesson.

 

Halfway through the day, Elrond called a temporary halt to the match and Poppy and Mary Sue and a number of their friends appeared with refreshments.  Meanwhile, the medical team sorted out the injuries.  These were mainly scrapes and bruises but one person had to be carried off with a broken leg.

 

“Not bad, considering,” said Thorin.

 

“Considering what?” asked Arion.

 

“Considering ten people jumped on top of him,” said Thorin.

 

The dwarf looked around the two teams with interest and concluded that his own lot looked in better shape.  The blue silken shirts had provided the red team with too many hand holds and The Palace Panthers looked in quite a bad way.  And experience will out, he also concluded, seeing that he and Gimli looked the least battered of all the assembled group.  Gimli had sensibly tied back his hair with a rag, just like Thorin, but Thranduil had let his beautiful golden hair hang free – or as free as it was possible to hang when caked with mud.

 

“You didn’t tell me about the mud,” he grumbled across to Thorin.  But, in spite of things, he also appeared to be in remarkably good shape and seemed to be enjoying himself.

 

“Watch out, you lot,” he shouted.  “There’s still plenty of time left for us to move the ball back the other way!”  And the blue team cheered.

 

But, the ball still moved steadily towards the harbour and, just as the light was failing, and in spite of many brave attempts to stop him, Lostwithiel finally managed to lob the ball into the bucket outside the Moot Hall.

 

The ecstasy of the red team and its supporters was totally overwhelming as they hugged and kissed and danced and screamed their victory.  And the misery of the blue team was soul-destroying and brought them to their knees.  Thorin ripped off his filthy, sweaty red top and tossed it into the watching crowd, much to the delight of the lady who caught it.  And then he pushed his way through the heaving masses until he found Thranduil.  And there, in the middle of the green, he gave the elven king a great hug and congratulated him and his team on putting up a brilliant fight; and the winners cheered the losers.

 

“Next time,” said Thranduil.  “Next time.”

 

Tauriel bathed and got into bed quickly that night where she waited impatiently for Thorin.  But, he climbed very slowly up onto the feather mattress and subsided upon the pillow with a thump.

 

“Well?” said Tauriel.

 

“Well, what?” said Thorin.  He opened one eye.  “Surely you’re not expecting me to perform tonight?” he groaned.

 

“Yes,” she said, “and more than once too.  That’s the whole point of playing Bucketball, surely?”

 

But, answer gave he none because he was absolutely and completely sound asleep, lost to exhaustion for the rest of the night.

 

.o00o.

 

_(Tauriel slammed shut the laptop.  “This wretched machine!” she snapped.  “It never writes what you want it to write when you get to something important!”_

_“Why?” laughed Thorin, bending over and giving her a hug.  “What did you want it to write?”_

_“Well, my story was supposed to end with us both falling into bed together and with you totally pumped up after winning that match.  I quite fancied you breaking your love-making record.  Instead, it wrote that you fell fast asleep with exhaustion.”  And she looked really exasperated._

_Thorin nuzzled her neck and murmured: “Ah, yes, my love, but that was last night.  Let’s concentrate on the night ahead.”  And he picked her up in his arms and swept her into the bedroom where they both fell, laughing and kissing and entwined upon the feather mattress.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up! Who would like to be the recipient of Thorin’s sweaty, red top, LOL?! Form an orderly queue.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter: Thorin and the AU. I think we’ve almost forgotten that Mary Sue comes from an alternate universe, haven’t we? Time for Thorin and Arion to have an adventure in a world other than their own. I wonder who will suffer from the worst culture shock? Them or the natives?


	60. Thorin and the AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Sue comes from ‘our world’. Suddenly, she is whisked back home again and Arion and Thorin feel obliged to follow. How will they cope in an alternate universe and are the villains there as bad as the ones to be found on Middle-earth? And how will the locals react when they see our two brave heroes walking down the road? Are they more likely to punch them on the nose or ask for their autographs, LOL?

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..and Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the AU

 

Pt I

 

It was nearly time to get up and Tauriel had had a restless night.

 

“What was all that tossing and turning about then?” grunted Thorin, giving her a little cuddle before they got out of bed to make breakfast for everyone.

 

“I’m fretting about Mary Sue,” she said, thinking that it would be quite easy to go back to sleep now that his great arms were about her.

 

“Why is that?” he murmured, kissing her neck: he could really do without the entire family this morning.

 

“Well, she tells me that she’s having bad nights too, full of dark nightmares that she doesn’t remember once she wakes up in the morning.  But they’re leaving her very drained during the day.”

 

“Perhaps she needs to learn how to relax,” whispered Thorin, carefully sliding on top of his wife.  “Would you like a demonstration?”

 

But Tauriel laughed and pushed him away.  “I’d love one,” she said, “but not at this precise moment.  Time to cook breakfast, I’m afraid.”

 

“Aww,” complained the dwarf, “not even a quick five minute demonstration?”

 

“No, not even,” the elf laughed, and was gone from his bed.

 

.o00o.

 

But his idea had been – broadly - a sensible one and when, after breakfast, Tauriel found time for a quiet few moments with Mary Sue, she suggested to her that a relaxing day out with family and friends might help her sleep better at night.

 

“Good idea,” agreed Mary Sue.  “Just pass me the laptop and I think I shall write about it.”  She opened the computer, thought for a moment and then, without even realising why she had chosen the title, she typed:

 

Thorin and the AU

 

_(“What’s an AU?” whispered Tauriel._

_“An Alternate Universe – another world, like the one I came from,” she answered back.  “The laptop seems to be taking over already.  But I’ve started and so I’d better finish, I suppose, and hope the machine looks after us all.”)_

The nightmares had been endless and horrific.  And yet all that Mary Sue could remember when she got up in the morning was the fear.

 

“Let’s have a few relaxing days out together,” Tauriel had suggested.  “They might help you to sleep better.”  And, since this sounded like a good idea, she went looking for the picnic stuff.

 

They had not expected the good weather to last for so long but these late autumnal days were quite beautiful with a warm, hazy sun and a lovely, golden light.

 

“Warm enough for swimming,” Arion reckoned.  And so the two of them, together with Tauriel and Thorin, set off up and over the hill to the lake on horseback.

 

She was a powerful swimmer as everyone had discovered at the sports event.  And she had got over her apprehension about the lake.  Although she had nearly drowned in it after being transported there from her own world, it was a popular playground with the entire family and, after a few tentative paddles there, she loved it as much as the rest of them.

 

They raced against each other; they basked in the sun; they ate the picnic food; they lay in the sun again.  And then Mary Sue went back in for one last swim whilst the others got dressed because the afternoon was wearing on.

 

She loved the water and the lake was a beautiful place, much nicer than the gravel pit where she used to swim back home.  “Back home.”  She still used that term but, in reality, Valinor was home to her now.  She loved her husband and she loved his family and the friends she had made.  It was a wonderful, magical place and, although she felt a deep sadness that she would never see her mother again, this was where she felt happy and this was where she wanted to stay.

 

She turned over and floated on her back, gazing up at the deep blue of the sky.  She thought that she would sleep well tonight.

 

Unexpectedly, a huge bubble welled up next to her face and burst with a pop.  Then, before this even had time to register, a dozen more came to the surface and did the same.  Suddenly, she felt afraid and she brought her knees to her chest and made to swim for the shore.  Then a whirlpool began to circle around her and she yelled for Arion.  And, as he looked up, a terrific suction began to tug at her legs and pulled her under.  Arion saw her head bob once to the surface, her arms flailing, then she dipped below the water again and was gone.

 

Thorin had seen it too and they both ran down to the water’s edge.  But, when Arion frantically made to dash fully dressed into the lake , Thorin seized him by the arm and restrained him.  “No, Arion!  That wasn’t natural!  She’s a marvellous swimmer and whoever heard of a whirlpool in a lake?  She’s been dragged back to her own world!”

 

But Arion shook him off and splashed into the water.  Thorin ran after him and grabbed him again.  “No, you fool!” he shouted.  “If you want to get her back, we’ve got to think!”

 

By this time, Tauriel had joined them and had seized Arion’s other arm.  Together, they dragged him from the water.

 

“What shall I do, father?” cried Arion.  “What shall I do?”  Thorin heard the desperation in his voice and, taking him by the shoulders, held him in a steady grasp.

 

“We two shall go after her,” he said in a firm voice, “but we shall do it properly.”  Then he went to the four horses and, slung around the pommel of each of them, as was their custom, was an elven rope.  He gave them to Tauriel to tie together and then he sat Arion on the ground and asked him questions.  “How much has she told you?” he asked.  “If we get to her world, have you any idea where we might find her, assuming she’s gone home to her mother?”

 

Arion sat with furrowed brow.  “I think she lived in a place called the Boysey Estate.  It was only a few miles from the gravel pit, just off the road to Shepperton.  I don’t think it’s a big place, so, if we can find it, then perhaps someone will be able to tell us where she lives.”

 

“And what are the dangers of this world?” Thorin pursued.  “What weapons do people carry and are there any wild beasts or monsters?”

 

“She told me that it is forbidden for people to carry weapons but that sometimes people carry them secretly.  However, if the guard catches you with a weapon, you can be thrown into prison.”

 

“So, we’d better not take our swords or axes,” said Thorin regretfully.

 

“And there are no monsters or even wild beasts but she always laughed at me and said that I would be frightened of their carriages which hurtle along the roads at great speeds without horses as if by magic and which make a terrific noise.  But these keep to the roads and will do you no harm if you stay on the path.”

 

“Hmm,” said Thorin.  “Just like the elven pathways in Mirkwood along which the spiders wouldn’t pass.”

 

“But we’re going to look very silly walking around with wet clothes on.  And what about our hair?”

 

Tauriel brought a waxed picnic bag over to them.  “Perhaps you should strip and put all your clothes in here.  It might keep out some of the water and protect your clothes to a small extent.  And Mary Sue talked to me about fashions and styles.  Many men wear their hair long and no-one thinks it’s odd; and breeches and shirts are quite common too.  Styles seem pretty wide-ranging.”

 

“Sounds like we could get away with things if we keep our mouths shut and don’t show our ignorance,” was Thorin’s conclusion.

 

Then he got Tauriel to tie knots around his wrist and Arion’s at one end of the rope whilst the other end he tied to a tree by the water’s edge.  “Keep your hand on it and if you feel three sharp tugs, then we’re in trouble and need your help to pull us out.  And,” he said with a grimace, “we may be some time.”

 

Then they stripped off their clothes and with their boots held tightly under their arms and the pack on Thorin’s back, they strode into the water to the spot where Mary Sue had disappeared.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

As they waded out to where Mary Sue had gone down, suddenly bubbles appeared and the whirlpool began to spin around them.  They could feel a powerful suction on their legs, so strong that, in the end, they both lost their footing and the waters closed over their heads.  They felt as if they were drowning and they struggled to get back to the surface.  Thorin made it first and pulled frantically at the rope on his wrist, helping Arion to surface after him.  Gasping and spluttering, they wiped the water from their eyes and looked about them.  “We’ve made it,” said Arion triumphantly.

 

And he was right.  They were no longer in familiar surroundings and they assumed that they were in the gravel pit.  They stumbled ashore and Thorin undid the rope and tied the end to a tree.  He then opened the picnic bag and found that their clothes were damp but not sopping and they hastily pulled them on.  After that, they tipped out the water from their boots and pulled them on too and, then, they were ready to explore their new territory.

 

.o00o.

 

Mary Sue had come gasping to the surface of the gravel pit in a state of shock.  “No-o-o!!” she was back in her own world and her beloved husband, Arion, was otherwhere!  She waded through the water and collapsed on the grass.  What should she do?  Go home to her mother?  That was the only thing she could think to do at the moment.  Her swimming ‘costume’ was of the modest Valinor variety: a short-sleeved top and a pair of shorts.  She had laughed when she had first seen it and had always meant to make herself a bikini, just for a bit of a giggle.  But, now she was grateful that she could at least walk home looking reasonably decent.  The afternoon sun was still warm and she was grateful for that too.  And there was a grass verge all along the roadside which would make walking barefoot a lot easier.  However, the estate was four miles away and, even on grass, it would be hard going.

 

A painful hour or so later, Mary Sue arrived, tired and blistered, at her old home.  The kitchen door at the back of the house was usually open and so she slipped around the back and let herself in.  Her mother, Kath, was washing up at the sink and turned as she heard the door.  She dropped the cup she was holding and stood gaping for a few moments before whispering, “Mary Sue!”  She turned pale and Mary Sue thought she was going to faint and so she rushed forward and helped her mother to a chair.  “I thought you were dead!” she said.  Her daughter had been gone for more than a year; her clothes had been found at the clay pit and she had been certain that Mary Sue had drowned, even though they had searched for a body with no success.  “Where have you been, you wicked, wicked girl!” she said.

 

Mary Sue had already imagined what her mother had been going through since her disappearance but there had been nothing she could do.  “I’m sorry, mum,” she said, sitting next to her and holding her hand.  “I-I ran away because I thought that you and Dave would be happier without me.  I-I’m married now, you know.”

 

Her mother looked at her as if she didn’t recognise her and then she burst into tears.

 

.o00o.

 

Clothed and booted, Thorin and Arion climbed up the path that led out of the clay pit and found their first road.  There was a sign pointing to Shepperton and so they knew they were on the right one.  Fortunately for them, it was a minor road and it was some minutes before they encountered their first car.  Forgetting Mary Sue’s warnings, they were trudging along in the road itself when a car came from behind and, swerving violently around them, gave them a blast on its horn.  The whole of this five second experience was absolutely terrifying.  They both went for their swords which, of course, weren’t there, and then they made a dive for the bushes where they crouched breathing heavily.  It took them some minutes to realise that this must have been one of the horseless carriages and that they shouldn’t have been walking in the road but upon the grass verge.

 

Thorin took a deep breath.  “Well, if Mary Sue could live with things like this and not let it worry her, then so can we,” he said.  Another vehicle shot past and, from their safe spot under the bushes, it didn’t seem so bad.  “Right, Arion.  Let’s stick to this grass verge and we’ll be fine.”  And they stood up and bravely put their best foot forward.

 

But, they had not gone far before a small delivery van drew abreast of them and stopped.  The driver put down his window and asked: “Do you want a lift?”  And then, when they just stared blankly at him, he repeated:  “I can give you a lift towards Shepperton.  Where do you want to go?”

 

It was Thorin who got his act together the fastest.  “That’s very kind of you,” he said.  “Do you know of the Boysey Estate?”

 

“Sure,” said the driver.  “It’s only a few miles down the road.  Jump in the back.  I’m not carrying anything at the moment.”

 

They hesitated, not sure what he meant but then they went to the back of the vehicle and saw a pair of doors with a handle.  Tentatively, they twisted the handle, opened the door, climbed in and managed to close it behind them.

 

The driver spoke over his shoulder.  “Did your car break down, or something?” he asked.

 

“Er, yes?” said Thorin cautiously.  ‘Yes’ seemed a good choice because the man nodded sympathetically. 

 

“Why’re you going to the Boysey Estate, then?  Rough sort of place.  D’you know someone there who can help you, then?”

 

“Er, my wife is there at the moment,” volunteered Arion.

 

The man chattered on: “You guys look as though you belong to a rock band.  Am I right?”

 

They didn’t have the faintest idea what a rock band was, but he seemed to be expecting an affirmative and so they said ‘yes’ again.

 

He chuckled.  “Knew it.  I’m a good guesser.  Give us a song, then.”

 

He wants a song, thought Thorin?  By Mahal, why?  But he looked at Arion and cleared his throat and sang the first verse of a dwarven song whilst Arion joined in with the harmonies.

 

“Hey, you’re good!” chuckled the man.  “Soon see you on the telly, I expect.  What do you call yourselves?”

 

“Er, Thorin and Arion?” said Thorin.

 

“Bit different,” said the driver, “but I reckon you need something snappier.”  And he spent the next few miles making all sorts of suggestions.  They all finally agreed that ‘Sons of Lightning’ sounded pretty good and, as he stopped the van opposite the Boysey Estate and waved them goodbye, they assured him that they would seriously consider changing their name.

 

And, as he said to his cronies in the pub that night: “So, when the Sons of Lightning get their first number one hit, you’ll all know that it was me who helped them on their way.”

 

Well, he had at least helped them as far as the Boysey Estate and Thorin and Arion crossed the road – carefully – and set out to find Mary Sue.

 

.o00o.

 

Mary Sue had made a cup of tea and her mother had calmed down.  “So, did things get better once I left?” she asked, pulling on an old pair of shoes she had found.

 

There was a pause.  “No,” was the answer, “they got worse.  He became more violent.”

 

“Then why haven’t you left him?” asked Mary Sue angrily.

 

“Because I’m frightened of him.  He’d follow me – he’d never let me go.”

 

“Surely you’ve got friends who can help?” asked her daughter.

 

“Well, er, there’s Stuart, the new guy who’s moved in next door.  He’s really nice.  He’s heard the rows sometimes – seen my black eyes – he’s been very supportive.  But I really don’t want to involve him.  If Dave finds out I’ve been round there having cups of tea behind his back, he’ll kill him.”  And she burst into tears again.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and Arion, meanwhile, were walking down one of the neighbouring streets looking for someone who might be able to give them information.  It was an untidy sort of place, with overgrown gardens, litter in the gutters and old mattresses and other rubbish blotting the landscape.  The place was deserted but, at the bottom of the road, they could see three kids sitting on a wall.  “Let’s ask them,” said Arion.

 

But, before they could reach them, a number of rough-looking men burst laughing out of a house as they approached and a strong stench of beer assailed their nostrils.  The men stopped in their tracks as they saw Arion and Thorin.

 

“’Ere, look at these two weirdos,” shouted one.  They stood in front of them, blocking their passage.  “Not from this manor, I don’t fink,” said the biggest one, “not wiv ‘air like that, anyway.”  And they all chortled at their mate’s witticism and rubbed their hands across their own closely-shaven pates.

 

The men spread out and formed a threatening circle around them.  “Up this end lookin’ for a fight, then?” their leader asked.

 

“Er, no,” said Thorin politely.  “In fact we were looking for….”

 

“…because if you are,” the man continued, “then you’ve got yerself one.”  And he drew back his fist.

 

A threatening fist meant the same thing whatever world you came from, and, for the first time, Thorin and Arion felt comfortable in their environment.  Thorin easily ducked the fist as it came at him and floored the man with his own.  The other men looked startled for a moment and then, with ferocious yells, got stuck in.

 

Five minutes later, they wished they hadn’t.  Four of their number lay unconscious on the pavement and the other three decided that the better part of valour was to run away.

 

Thorin and Arion rubbed their knuckles, smiled at each other gleefully and then continued strolling down the road.  “NOT very well-trained,” said Thorin.  “They could do with a few lessons from me.”

 

When they reached the kids on the wall, the children were staring at them boggle-eyed.

 

“Cor, that was pretty cool,” said one.

 

“Excuse me,” said Arion politely, “I wonder if you could help me?”

 

“Anything, mate,” answered one impressed little lad.

 

“Do you happen to know where a young girl called Mary Sue lives?”

 

“You mean, ‘er wot drowned?”

 

“Er, yes,” said Thorin, making a good guess.

 

“’Er mum lives just around the corner, about six houses down, blue front door,” was the answer.

 

“Thank you so much,” said Thorin.  And three pairs of hero-worshipping eyes watched the two of them until they disappeared from sight.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thorin and Arion knocked politely on the blue door and a tired-looking woman opened it.  But, before they could say anything, Mary Sue screeched from the kitchen doorway, “Arion!” and, hurtling into the hallway, she flung her arms around him.  “It’s my husband,” she explained to her mother as she wept upon his chest.

 

Her mother stood there startled, totally taken aback by the sudden appearance of two extremely good-looking men upon her doorstep.  But there was something – exotic - about them and, for a moment, she wondered if they were gypsies.

 

“And this is Arion’s father, Thorin,” Mary Sue was saying.  The stranger bent elegantly over her hand with an old-fashioned courtesy:  “And you must be Mary Sue’s mother.  It is my pleasure to meet you.”  And his voice was so deep and sonorous and his presence so compelling that, in spite of his tangled mass of black hair, she could almost believe she were in the presence of royalty.  No, definitely not gypsies.

 

“We’ve come to take you home,” said Arion and he began to lead Mary Sue away from the house.

 

“Please don’t leave me again,” cried her mother, running after her,“not on my own with him.  I can’t bear it.”

 

And suddenly a figure appeared at the front gate.  “Ah, so the wanderer returns,” snarled the man, seeing Mary Sue.

 

“Dave!” gasped both the women.  And Arion and Thorin turned to see one of the men who had attacked them standing there.

 

“I might have known that you had something to do with these two,” he said, glaring at Mary Sue and throwing open the garden gate.  Then he turned towards Arion and Thorin.  “And this time, I’ve come prepared,” he said, and he slipped a switch-blade from out of his sleeve and flashed it, grinning, in their faces.

 

Thorin rolled his eyes.  “Some people never learn,” he sighed and, with a swift movement, he struck the blade out of the man’s hand and knocked him to the ground.  Dave gave one groan and then lay still.  “Come on,” said Thorin, “he’ll be out for a bit.”  And he pocketed the knife.  “For your safety, madam,” he said politely.

 

Mary Sue hugged her mother and then whispered: “I must go.  I love Arion and I want to be with him, but, know that I shall always love you too.”  Then, after one fierce kiss, she and her two strange friends were gone.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin, Arion and Mary Sue trotted back to the gravel pit as quickly as possible.  The sun was beginning to set as they stumbled down the path that led to the water’s edge.  “What if the door between our two worlds is closed?” she asked.

 

Arion pointed to the rope.  “We’re hoping that its powers have somehow kept it ajar,” he said.  “So, come on.  Let’s try.”  And he undid the rope and they wrapped it tightly around their wrists.

 

“Hold on,” said Thorin, “and don’t let go.”  And they waded to the spot from which they had emerged.  Much to their relief, the water immediately began to bubble and they could see the whirlpool starting to form about them.  Thorin gave three sharp tugs on the rope as they were pulled beneath the surface.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Dave came to on the cold ground.  He must have been out a long time, he thought, because the sun was beginning to set. There was no-one with him and the door to the house was shut.  He staggered to his feet, pulled his keys from his pocket and tried to open it.  It wouldn’t budge.

 

“Damn her!” he thought angrily.  “She’s bolted it!”  And he opened the letter box and yelled furiously: “If you don’t let me in, I’ll kick the door down!”

 

Kath knew he would and so she cautiously did as she was told.  He barged into the hallway and, seizing her by the chin, he snarled: “Where are they?”

 

“The gravel pit,” she stuttered.

 

Dave blinked in confusion.  “The gravel pit?  Why there?”

 

“She’s come home with some mad story about being transported to another world through a door at the gravel pit.  I thought she had lost her mind until those two men turned up.  You’ve seen them.  Just tell me that you don’t think they’re different.”

 

Dave thought about it for a moment.  He was a credulous bloke who read The Fortean Times magazine and believed friends who said they had been abducted by aliens.  Perhaps what she said was true.  Whatever.  He would go to the gravel pit and see what was what.  And, even if this was all a load of rubbish, those men were wearing some enormous lumps of gold on their fingers and in their ears.  There was some profit to be had, if nothing else.  And he went upstairs to the bedroom, prised up a floorboard and took out a gun that was hidden there.  Then he slammed out of the house and got into his car.

 

Stuart came home just as Dave screeched away.  Full of concern, he hurried across to Kath and touched her bruised chin.  “That’s the last time he hurts you,” he said.  “I’ll deal with him when he gets back.  In the meantime, I want you to pack your bags and move in with me.”

 

.o00o.

 

Dave reached the gravel pit just as Thorin, Arion and Mary Sue were disappearing into the centre of the whirlpool.  He gazed in amazement – that must be the portal, he thought – and then he hurried down the path and waded into the water after them.

 

Meanwhile, the other three were emerging out into the lake on the other side.  Tauriel was heaving on the rope and she helped them to the bank as they gasped and spluttered and coughed up water.  “Thank Eru!” she cried in relief and she hugged them one by one. 

 

The light was nearly gone and a blue twilight had settled over the scene.  “Come on,” said Thorin at last, “before it’s dark.”  And they made their way towards the horses.  But, just as they reached them, they heard a familiar bubbling in the water again, and turning back, they saw, to both their horror and amazement, the soaking wet figure of Dave emerging from the lake.

 

For someone who had been transported to an alternate universe, he’s got his act together pretty quickly, Thorin thought.  But, Dave had read all about stuff like this and he was ready for it.  As he stumbled into the shallows, he raised his gun.  “Take off all that gold you’re wearing,” he snarled, “or I’ll kill the lot of you.”

 

Arion laughed dismissively and stepped forward to confront him but Mary Sue grabbed his arm.  “No, he’s telling the truth,” she said.  “He could kill us all with that thing in a matter of seconds.  Do as he says.”  And so, reluctantly, all four stripped themselves of their jewellery and threw it all on the ground in front of him.  He picked it up and, putting it all in his pocket, he backed off slowly into the lake once more.  Thorin edged after him but he waved the gun threateningly.  “Keep your distance,” he said, “or you’ll be sorry.”

 

When he reached the appointed spot, Dave stood and waited – and waited.  He looked worried and confused but Arion suddenly yelled: “The door must be shut!”  And Thorin, taking advantage of Dave’s momentary distraction, leaped upon him and struggled with him in the water.  Suddenly, as Thorin wrested the gun away from him, it went off and the bullet grazed Thorin’s arm.  I see what Mary Sue meant, he thought.  This is a really dangerous weapon.  And he threw it as far as he could into the centre of the lake.  And then he twisted Dave’s arm up behind his back and dragged him from the water.

 

The man looked frightened.  “Don’t ‘urt me,” he whined.  “Mary Sue, tell them not to ‘urt me.”

 

“He reminds me of Rose’s father,” muttered Thorin angrily.  “I could kill him now.”

 

“No,” said Tauriel quietly.  “We shan’t sink to his level.  We must take him to Elrond who will know what to do.”

 

They retrieved their jewellery from his pocket and then tied him behind Thorin’s horse.  “We can just about make it home before it gets dark,” said Arion.  And, back in the forge, they chained Dave to the central pillar and left him there.

 

“Chains and pillars are really useful things,” laughed Tauriel with a sideways look at her husband, remembering the first time she had met him.

 

Then they all got changed into some dry clothing and had supper.  Dave went without.  “No point in being too nice to him,” grinned Mary Sue.

 

They talked about their experience and Mary Sue was pleased with the way that everything had worked out.  “I’m sure my mother will get together with Stuart now, when my stepfather doesn’t return,” she reckoned.

 

“And I’m sure I shall have a good sleep tonight,” she continued.  “I’ve started to remember my nightmares: they were all about drowning and meeting up with Dave again.  They seemed like warnings.  But, now it’s all over.  I shall be fine from now on, I’m sure.”

 

“The only pity is,” said Thorin, “we appear to have introduced a villain to The Undying Lands, and I’m not so sure that that’s a good thing.”

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Swings and roundabouts,” sighed Mary Sue as she closed the laptop.  “But, I’m really tired now, so I shall go home and have a good sleep.”  And then she kissed them both and went off with Arion to bed._

_“You must be really tired as well,” whispered Thorin to Tauriel, “after that restless night.  Do you feel like bed too?”_

_“Ah, yes, my love,” sighed Tauriel, laying her head upon his broad chest.  “I feel as though I could go to sleep for a hundred years right now.”_

_And, by the time he had picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, she was already fast asleep._

_“Ohh….sh…sugar!” said Thorin.)_

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Valinor is stuck with Dave now and you’ll be hearing more about him in a future story. 
> 
>  
> 
> But next week’s chapter is: Thorin and the Students. In this, Ellandel asks Thorin to put in some sessions about dwarven culture at the local school. Will he become a successful teacher there or will he get himself into an awful situation that will result in him being banished from the Undying Lands and forever parted from Tauriel and his family?


	61. Thorin and the Students

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How is Thorin doing amongst all those elves in Valinor after such a long time? You’d think he’d be pretty well accepted by now, wouldn’t you? After all, he has made everyone’s lives much more interesting and entertaining since his arrival. However, some of the inhabitants are still pretty resistant to dwarves and so Ellandel comes up with a suggestion which should benefit all concerned. But, will it end in disaster for Thorin?

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Students

 

Pt I

 

“Sometimes I could just _spit_!” growled Thorin as he lay in bed with Tauriel.

 

“What’s wrong now, my love?” asked his wife, enjoying the snuggle up against his muscular body.

 

“ _How_ many years have we been here?” he asked tetchily.  Then, not waiting for a reply, he went on:  “More years than we can count and some of them _still_ think we’re weird or unacceptable!”

 

Tauriel could sense that he was working himself up into a temper and so she gently stroked his chest and said: “Tell me about it, Thorin.”

 

“Well,” he continued, “I was walking down the hill to meet up with Frodo this afternoon and I passed a group of youngsters whom I didn’t recognise.  They pointed and laughed at me and called me a hairy goblin!”  Thorin snorted indignantly.  “They’re lucky I’m such a calm person and have plenty of self-control, otherwise I would have given them what for.”

 

“So, if you didn’t give them what for, what did you do?” asked Tauriel, curious about the response of her fiery husband.

 

“I asked them in a very dignified manner for the name and address of their parents.”

 

“Very good, Thorin,” said Tauriel, kissing his throat.  “And then what?”

 

“They laughed at me and made a run for it and I ran after them…..but they got away,” he snarled.  “If I had caught them, I would have killed them!”

 

Tauriel laughed gently.  “Very calm and self-controlled,” she said.

 

“Well,” he said grumpily, “how would you deal with abuse?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said.  “We’ve been through a lot together over the years and you have done so well here in Valinor, amongst the elves, and have made so many friends.  All you can do is think about those friends and forget about the bigots and the idiots.”  But, after they had made love, she lay awake for a long time, mulling things over, and, when the morning came, she began to type on the laptop. 

 

“What are you doing?” Thorin asked as he made breakfast.

 

“Trying to make your miserable life happy,” she grinned as she wrote the title:

 

Thorin and the Students

 

Thorin always enjoyed his chats with Ellandel.  He felt that the elf lord liked him and their meetings often involved an interesting proposition made by either one or the other.  Today, he was down at the Moot Hall in Ellandel’s office and yet another proposition was being put forward to him.

 

“You’ve made quite a life for yourself here, Thorin, haven’t you?” he smiled.  “And you’ve had a remarkable influence on our elven society too.”

 

“Do you think so?” asked the dwarf.

 

“Don’t be modest,” laughed Ellandel.  “Of course you have.  Just think how you’ve improved our level of fitness.  You used to train those young elves who lived near you in the use of weapons – just to keep them healthy.  You set up that big sports event which encouraged people to practise for ages beforehand and you started the weekly Bucketball matches.”  Then he patted his stomach.  “I’ve nearly lost my paunch as well as it giving me so much fun and entertainment.”

 

Thorin shrugged.  “But you don’t need me to keep fit.  You can easily do it by yourself.”

 

“I beg to differ,” said Ellandel.  “You were the catalyst.  You were the one who came up with the ideas.  We’d still be sitting at home twiddling our thumbs if you hadn’t urged us up and out of our chairs.  And speaking of entertainment,” he continued, “you’re the leading light of the drama society and have even given us all more fun in the bedroom because you were willing to talk to Frodo about your sex life for his book.  And, what would we do without you to make us the chains?”

 

“Oh,” said Thorin, “there are others in the drama group besides me and Thranduil was the one to introduce you all to chains and manacles and give everyone a giggle.”

 

“True,” said Ellandel, “but he can’t take the credit for inspiring all those titillating books that Lostwithiel is churning out nor for making our market day a lot more exciting.”

 

“No, that was a family effort,” admitted the dwarf.

 

“And what a family!” smiled the elf lord.  “But, from what Tauriel tells me, it’s you who gets them going.  However, don’t refuse to acknowledge your achievements, Thorin.  You’ve been a marriage broker, an agony aunt, a problem solver, a hobbit hole digger, an expedition leader and an ideas man, like when you built that ice house and the sweat lodge.  And, I know these were initially elven ideas but it was you who popularised them: now everyone wants one.”

 

Ellandel’s praise was so effusive that Thorin began to blush.  “Well, I wish everyone felt the same as you do, Ellandel,” he said diffidently.

 

“Yes, the fact that there are still a goodly number of people here who are mean and unpleasant to you, to Gimli, to your family……to anyone different…….is why I’ve asked you here today.”

 

Thorin looked intrigued.  What was the elf lord up to?  “Yes,” he agreed.  “Plenty of people, especially the youngsters, are still very unaccepting.”

 

“So, we must start with the young ones, don’t you think?”  Thorin blinked and waited politely for the elf to explain himself.  “You did all us elves an honour when you turned up to my lessons on becoming an elf.  You have tried to understand our culture over the years and now I think it’s about time that we returned the favour.”

 

“So, what are you suggesting?” asked Thorin.

 

“I’m suggesting that you become a teacher.” 

 

Thorin looked at him open-mouthed.

 

“We run a regular school here five days per week and I think it’s about time that Dwarven Culture was part of the syllabus.  And you’re the one to teach it.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Thorin was so taken aback that he couldn’t speak for a moment.  “Me?  A teacher?” he finally said.

 

“Aren’t you already a teacher?” Ellandel asked with a smile.  “You’ve done weapons training both here and on Middle-earth.  You’ve taught a number of people the art of smithing.  You’ve instructed your wife’s troops on woodcraft when out on patrol.  You’ve even taught Thranduil all about canoeing, so I hear, and your young neighbours the basic art of stone-cutting and masonry.”

 

“But,” Thorin stuttered, “that’s not the same as standing up in front of a class and doing something – something – _intellectual_ or _clever_ with them.”

 

“Well, let’s see,” said the elf lord, steepling his fingers, “what topics do you think that Dwarven Culture could cover?”

 

“I could give them a quick run-through of dwarven history,” Thorin suggested.

 

“And that will cause trouble,” laughed Ellandel.

 

“Why so?” asked Thorin.

 

“Because your version is so different from ours.  There could be an explosive clash of opinions there.”

 

“True,” mused the dwarf, “but it might be good to air them, you know.  Get it all out in the open.”

 

“And it’s likely to end in a knock-down fight.”

 

“Could be quite useful to show them dwarven techniques for punching people on the nose,” grinned Thorin.

 

“And what about language lessons?” was the next question.  “Couldn’t you teach them Khuzdul?”

 

“Sorry, no,” grimaced the dwarf.  “It’s a secret language.  But perhaps I could tell them all about it and they could learn the lettering.”

 

“Good idea,” said Ellandel.  “You could use that as part of an art lesson….”

 

“…which could lead on to a discussion of body art.  I could show them my tattooed arm rings – although I bet they’ll be disgusted by them.”

 

“A bit of disgust can be fun,” laughed Ellandel.  “I might even turn up for that lesson.  They look quite intriguing on that painting in the hall.  You might start a new youth fashion.”

 

“Which will make me very popular with the parents,” Thorin imagined.  Then he thought that he could bring samples of his gold jewellery in the dwarven style – the girls should like that – and dwarven weaponry should interest the lads.  “And this will lead to me doing some lessons outside – weapons training and a bit of smithing – young people usually enjoy anything that gets them out of the classroom.”  He felt on a bit of a roll and began to experience a measure of excitement. 

 

Ellandel’s eyes were dancing too.  “I feel confident this is a good idea,” he said.  “And once they know who you are and what you’re all about as a society, then perhaps you and Gimli won’t suffer any more abuse.”

 

Too optimistic, thought Thorin.  “But it’ll be nice if the insults and misunderstandings lessen.”

 

.o00o.

 

Ellandel took him down to one of the teaching rooms.  “I’d like you to meet the members of your class,” he said.  “They’re older children and will soon be leaving school.”

 

Yes, Thorin knew what “older children” meant:  old in years but young in behaviour.  He always found it very difficult to get his head around this.  But Ellandel opened a door and stepped authoritatively inside where the dwarf found himself confronted by a dozen curious faces.

 

Elves would certainly win the prize for Most Beautiful People, he thought.  Since meeting Tauriel and having his own half-even children, he had come to appreciate the attractiveness of this race.  Twelve perfectly formed faces framed by shining falls of glossy hair turned in his direction.

 

“Good morning, class,” said Ellandel, making an apologetic gesture to the teacher for his interruption.

 

“Good morning, sir,” they chanted in response.

 

“I’d like to introduce you to a new teacher,” he continued, “the great warrior and king, Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

“Good morning,” said Thorin, bowing slightly.

 

“Good morning, sir,” they replied in the same tones that they had used for Ellandel, but their eyes regarded him sharply.

 

I sense trouble ahead, Thorin thought to himself apprehensively.  Is this something I _really_ want to do?

 

But, before he had the time to think about it too much, Ellandel had whisked him away to work out a timetable for him.

 

.o00o.

 

“So, he wants me to be a teacher and I’m starting tomorrow,” Thorin told his wife with a rather dazed expression on his face.  “And I’m meant to persuade all these young elves that dwarves are the flavour of the month.”

 

“And very tasty you are too, my love,” grinned Tauriel.  “I’m sure you’ll do a marvellous job.”

 

He had been talking it all through with her as they had eaten their evening meal and now he continued to sit at the table jotting down ideas for his lessons on the following day.  Afterwards, he raided Tauriel’s jewellery box – and his own – and sorted out some weapons and some tools from his forge.  “Might as well start out with some things that could – at a stretch – interest them,” he said.

 

And the next day, he loaded everything onto his horse and set out rather apprehensively for the Moot Hall and his pupils.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Outside the classroom, Thorin took a deep breath and then he walked in.  The young elves were standing around chatting or sitting on the desks and only a few made any attempt to come to order as he entered the room.  Just a handful went to their seats, the others just turned and gave him a cold stare.

 

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully.

 

“Good morning, sir,” said the obedient few.  But the others just turned back to each other and carried on chatting.

 

Mmm, I thought as much, said Thorin to himself.  Time to see who gets the upper hand.  Lucky I came at least a little bit prepared.  He went to his own desk and opened up his bag.  That caught the attention of some of them.  Then he took out some slips of paper and a packet of pins and strolled around his pupils distributing a piece of paper and a pin to each of them.

 

This intrigued them more and they began to sit down.

 

“What’s this for, sir?” one of the girls asked.

 

“I want you to write your name on the slip and pin it to your clothing,” said Thorin.  “Then I’ll know who you are.  If I’m trying to teach people good manners, I’d rather not shout ‘hey, you’ at them.”

 

You could read their thoughts in their eyes.  Ahh, the battle for control, they were all thinking.  They looked at each other and grinned slyly.  Then they bent over their pieces of paper and began to write whilst Thorin did the same himself.

 

After they had pinned on their slips, they looked up expectantly, waiting for the explosion.  But, none came.  Thorin walked up and down the rows, speaking to them.

 

“Ah, Nienna,” he said gently, speaking to the girl who had sat down first, “what a fair hand you write in.  Such a lovely movement to your script.”  And Nienna looked surprised and then blushed.

 

“And you, too, Earendur,” he said to the young lad sitting behind her who had been the last to sit down.  “But, I do think that the use of bright purple ink shows a _slight_ lack of taste.”  And Earendur also looked surprised.

 

“But, Ecthelion,” he continued, looking at Earendur’s neighbour, “so untidy.  However, I was always accused of untidiness and my response to my teachers was that it reflected my speed of thought.  Is that the case with you? We shall see.”  The lad blinked.

 

And so Thorin continued on around the class, praising some and tutting at others, but always addressing them by their proper name.  Almost immediately, he had their full attention.  And when he returned to his desk, one of them said: “But we wrote our names in Elvish, sir.”

 

“Of course you did,” said Thorin calmly. “You’re elves.  What else would you write in?”

 

“But,” said another, “we didn’t think you could read Elvish.”

 

Thorin laughed.  “I guessed as much.  But, I was a prince of Durin and I had to learn Elvish along with Khuzdul, even though both languages bored me.  If you’re a prince – or an elf lord,” and he gestured to them, “there are things that you need to learn which make you worthy of your station in life.”  He didn’t add that, in his wife, Tauriel, he had found a sleeping dictionary which had made learning Elvish a much more pleasurable experience.

 

“So,” said one of them, looking intently at Thorin’s own name-slip, “does that say ‘Thorin Oakenshield’ in Khuzdul?  It’s very long.”

 

Thorin wrote out the first word on the blackboard for them.  “This says ‘Thorin’,” he explained.  “But this,” (and he wrote out the rest of the name), “does not say ‘Oakenshield’.”  He had them now and they were following every word.

 

“What does it say, sir?” asked a pretty elf at the back.

 

“It says: ‘He Who Must Be Obeyed’.”  They looked at him for a moment and then they all burst out laughing.  Their new teacher had a sense of humour.

 

But, he hadn’t won yet.  “It’s rather ugly and spikey,” isn’t it?” asked Earendur, still on the attack.

 

“And elven script is very beautiful and flowing.  But each is attractive in its own way.  And, although I cannot teach you the secret language of Khuzdul,” (and some of them said ‘Aww’), “I can teach you the lettering and we shall explore the beauties of both scripts in our art lessons and perhaps put it to some use.”

 

At last he had them, and they gave him no more trouble for the rest of the lesson.

 

He grabbed their attention further by showing them Orcrist and his dwarven sword and making comparisons.  “Which one is better, sir?” asked Ecthelion.

 

“Neither,” replied Thorin.  “They both have their strengths.  But I have a particular fondness for Orcrist because I found it in a troll hoard.  And it _is_ very beautiful.”  And he stroked it lovingly.  The elves were, of course, very pleased that he showed this preference and wasn’t too uptight about being a dwarf to own up to it.  Then they wanted to hear all about the trolls, sitting wide-eyed as Thorin told them how he had been almost eaten alive.  Nothing _that_ exciting had ever happened to them and they envied him his past history.

 

The lesson passed surprisingly quickly, both for Thorin and his pupils and, when he packed his bag, a number of them said, “Thank you,” and “See you tomorrow, sir.”  As Thorin closed the classroom door behind him, he heaved a sigh of relief.  “Getting there,” he thought.

 

.o00o.

 

“The girls in particular have been very supportive,” said Thorin to Tauriel in bed that night.  “Nennia is a sweet, well-behaved girl who was respectful the minute I walked in the room and Idril is a pretty girl who sits at the back.”

 

Tauriel laughed.  “It’s usually the naughty ones who sit at the back.  Watch out for what she’s doing when you’re not looking.”

 

“No,” asserted Thorin, “it’s the young lads who have been a bit provocative.  They may be taller than me but I’m twice their width and I think they see me as a challenge.  However, I reckon I’m winning them over.  I think they like me.”

 

“I like you, my love,” murmured Tauriel against his lips.

 

“How much?” Thorin murmured back.

 

“This much,” she replied, turning off the light and drawing him into her arms.

 

.o00o.

 

Over the next few weeks, Thorin continued with his charm offensive: he made them laugh but he was firm with them and they learned, indeed, that he was One Who Must Be Obeyed.  Many of his lessons were great fun: he took them outside and they had practice sessions with the dwarven axe and short bow and they learned to appreciate both.  He introduced them to a form of Bucketball which only lasted a few hours.  They designed jewellery in the art lessons and he held a competition for the best designs; and then he took them up the hill to his forge where he created the winning designs and Tauriel fed them chocolate cake.

 

But he also got their brains working when he gave them a course in dwarven history.  As Ellandel had predicted, this caused a bit of a riot, but violent disagreements were well contained within debates and essays which he obliged them to write and which showed both the elven and dwarven side of things.  Those who refused to see both aspects were penalised with lowered grades.  “If I didn’t show an understanding of both sides of the story, then I’d never hear the last of it from my wife,” he grinned.

 

One day, they studied the painting of Thorin in the main hall and the dwarf rolled up his sleeves so that they could examine his tattooed bracelets.  They had been studying Khuzdul script and they all designed their own bracelets which they decorated with dwarven lettering.  Ellandel hadn’t been far wrong when he said that Thorin would encourage a new fashion trend because, a few days later, a furious parent dragged his son into school and angrily showed the administrator the scabby and weeping bracelet that the lad had attempted to tattoo on himself.  But, Ellandel managed to calm him down, the boy accepted complete responsibility and Thorin escaped blameless.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The weeks passed and the end of Thorin’s course in Dwarven Culture loomed.  As a treat in the last week, he promised them he would take them out on a night patrol, just like the ones he used to do with the Ered Luin outpost.  The class absolutely buzzed with excitement.  “It really won’t be ‘fun’,” laughed Thorin.  The weather was getting wetter and colder and it amused Thorin that they were looking forward so much to a night of misery.

 

“I must be mad to suggest it,” Thorin told his wife.  “I thought I would never have to go on one of those patrols again.”

 

On the night of the patrol, his pupils turned up with their parents and Thorin made sure that they were all equipped with elven cloaks and bedrolls.  The night was cold but dry and, after waving goodbye to their parents, they all set off with Thorin up into the hills.

 

They had tremendous fun.  They all successfully followed a trail that Thorin had laid the previous day.   They built a fire and had a bit of a sing-song and finally, after choosing individuals to take turns on watch, they set out their bedrolls and got ready for a few hours’ sleep before they had to press on into the dawn.

 

Thorin slept on the edge of the group, not wanting to intrude on the camaraderie of the youthful and giggling crowd.  He fell asleep immediately, as he had trained himself to do, but was awoken in the quiet middle watches of the night by a cold hand touching his cheek.  “Hello, Idril,” he said sleepily.  “What is it?”

 

Pretty Idril had been the backbone of the class for weeks now.  She was always at his elbow, often with Nennia, offering to help, to hand out stuff, to clear away.  She had offered to be one of those on watch and now she was leaning over him.

 

“I’m cold,” she whispered and, before he understood what was happening, she had pulled back his bedroll and was climbing in beside him, one hand sliding inside his shirt and her lips seeking his.  Suddenly, he was wide awake.  He seized her wrist and hissed: “What on earth do you think you are doing?”

 

“Just trying to get warm,” she murmured and her lips pressed against his once more.  Thorin sat up and pushed her away.

 

“Get back on guard duty,” he snapped, “or I think you’ll find yourself in trouble.”

 

Sulkily, she edged out of his bedroll and disappeared off into the night.

 

The rest of the watch passed without further incident and the bedraggled but cheerful group finally returned to the Moot Hall where their families were waiting to clap and cheer them on.  It was Thorin’s last day and he had expected to slip quietly away but the parents and his students had a present waiting for him and Earendur gave a little speech of thanks, saying how much they had enjoyed his lessons and how valuable they had been.  Thorin wondered if he should report Idril’s behaviour to Ellandel but decided in the end that he wouldn’t embarrass her.

 

At last they let him go and he was able to return to Tauriel on a little wave of happiness, their praise ringing in his ears.  He fell into bed absolutely exhausted that night but they were both awoken early the next morning by a loud rapping at the door.

 

Thorin pulled his robe around him and was completely taken aback when he found both Ellandel and a troop of elven guards standing on his doorstep.  The elf lord was looking uncomfortable and anxious.  “I insisted on coming with them,” he said.  “This is the first bit of trouble that they’ve had to deal with in a long time and I didn’t want them overreacting.”

 

“Trouble?” said Tauriel, peering over Thorin’s shoulder.

 

Ellandel cleared his throat and looked even more uncomfortable.  “Yes, I’m afraid that Idril is accusing Thorin of molesting her when they were out on patrol last night.”

 

Jaws dropped.  “What?!” both of them said.

 

“And the guard has come to arrest you and take you to the lock-up, Thorin, pending trial.”

 

With that, the guard insisted that Thorin get dressed and then they marched him in handcuffs (a pair he had made himself – ah, the ignominy!) down the hill with Tauriel and Ellandel hurrying behind them.

 

They threw him into the prison attached to the Moot Hall, a place hardly used in hundreds of years.  “Fame at last,” muttered Thorin to himself.

 

“Can he have visitors?” snapped Tauriel.

 

“Erm, yes, I suppose so,” said the captain, not really knowing the rules because he had never had to exercise them before.  (He was later to regret this decision.)

 

“Good!  I shall visit him, then,” and she and Ellandel brushed past the guard and marched into the room.

 

It was a simple place with only one cell and a space for the guards with a table and a couple of chairs.  Thorin sat despondently in his prison with one leg now chained to the wall.  I thought I would never be imprisoned again,” he said and Tauriel could hear the catch in his voice.  “She’s lying, you know,” he said, looking up.

 

“Of course she’s lying,” said Tauriel reaching through the bars to clasp his cold hand.  And he squeezed her hand gratefully in return.

 

“Well,” said Ellandel, “it will go to trial – which might not happen for a week or so – and we shall have to make sure that her story is disproved.”

 

“So, you believe me too,” sighed Thorin in relief.

 

“Anyone who knows you would believe you,” was the response.  “But, tell me: did anything happen at all that night?”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin.  “I should have told you but I felt sorry for her: some stupid schoolgirl crush, I suppose.  She was on watch and I woke to find her trying to get into my bedroll.  I sent her packing, of course.”

 

Tauriel stayed an hour or so and Ellandel went off to get him some food.  Then Tauriel returned up the hill to tell everyone what had happened.

 

.o00o.

 

The news spread like wildfire.  Thorin had become a well-known personage in the area and, moreover, few remembered anyone being locked up in the prison before.  But, much to the captain of the guard’s concern, hordes of visitors began to make their way down to his cell.  These included Thorin’s family, of course, who were there most of the time, chatting and sharing food or just keeping him company.

 

Not that he needed their company, however, because so many others visited him too: Tauriel’s old troop, members of the Drama Society, Bucketball players, those who had once lived and still lived in the tree-houses below the forge, classmates from the time when he had been tutored by Ellandel, the two hobbits, of course, members of both Elrond and Thranduil’s courts, Legolas, Gimli, Elrond and even Thranduil himself.

 

“Well,” he tutted archly as he swept into the prison, “in chains again, I see.  You’ll soon be competing with me for Most Chained-up Person in Valinor.”

 

“Thranduil,” snarled Thorin.  “Just shut up, won’t you?  I’m in no mood for your silly remarks.”

 

Others who had been in the room had politely withdrawn in order to give the two kings some privacy.  And so Thranduil drew up a chair close to the bars and said quietly: “Sorry, Thorin.  Just trying to raise a laugh, you know.  But this is an awful pickle you’ve got yourself into.  Why on earth would that Idril accuse you of something like this?”

 

“Well,” sighed Thorin, “if I knew that, I could prepare my defence more adequately.  As it is, I’m fighting in the dark.”

 

The elven courts had no jury and no lawyers.  Accused and accuser each stated their case whilst supporters stepped forward to back their chosen side.  Then the judge would reach a verdict.

 

“I thought she liked me,” he continued.  “As a teacher, of course,” he clarified.  “She was always very helpful in class and always volunteering……And then I wake up and find her in my bed.”

 

“I should be so lucky,” grinned Thranduil.  “But these things only ever seem to happen to you, Thorin.  What is your fatal attraction?”

 

“Whatever it is, I could really do without it,” replied the dwarf.  “I’ve always been happily married but now I don’t even know exactly what I’m accused of so that I can mount a proper defence.”

 

The details of an accusation were always kept secret so that the accused would reply spontaneously in court.  It was supposed to make it fairer but Thorin wasn’t so sure about that.  “All I know is that she has accused me of molesting her when she was on watch during a patrol I took them on.  But, _she_ molested _me_ and the only part of her body that I touched was her wrist when I tried to make her keep her distance.”

 

Thranduil patted Thorin’s shoulder through the bars.  “Just don’t worry about it,” he said.  “I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end.”  But he left the prison with a furrowed brow.  It was the trial the following day and its outcome was completely uncertain: Thorin’s word against Idril’s, it would seem.  And who in Valinor would take the word of a dwarf over that of an elf? 

 

As he stood frowning by his horse, a pretty young elf approached him.  It was Nennia and she talked to him quietly for some time.  What she said made his frown deepen.  Then, finally, after thanking her, he mounted his horse and rode speedily away.

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

The following day, The Moot Hall was packed for the trial.  A huge number of Thorin’s supporters were there; but Idril’s friends and family had come to support her and, of course, there were still some who despised dwarves and were there to see this particular one punished.

 

Judge Elessar, who was one of those elves who had an old-young look, stared sternly at Thorin who now stood in a quickly erected dock.

 

“We are gathered here today,” he intoned, “to decide on your guilt or your innocence.  The charge is a very serious one and I must tell you now that, should you be found guilty, you will be cast out from the Undying Lands, and be sent back to Middle-earth to end your days.”

 

A gasp ran around the room and Thorin and Tauriel looked at each other, totally stunned.  The thought of being separated from each other was a cruel one and too much to bear.

 

“But now,” continued the judge, “let us hear from this dwarf’s accuser.

 

With an arrogant toss of her head, Idril stepped forward and stood on a podium where all could see her.  Elessar made a gracious gesture towards her with his hand and then she told her story.

 

“I have been a pupil at the Moot Hall School this past year and have been very happy here.  But, some weeks ago, we were introduced to a new teacher, a dwarf.”  And she gestured towards Thorin.  “He had come to teach us Dwarven Culture.  The whole class was very unhappy about this but we tolerated him because Master Ellandel wished it.  I, myself, tried to be helpful as is my wont – perhaps he read something into that – but his lessons were very difficult to stomach.”

 

“In what way?” asked the judge curiously.

 

“Well, first of all he laughed at us because he could read Elvish but we didn’t understand Khuzdul.   He made us feel very inadequate.  Then he forced us to train with dwarven weapons which, of course, were very unwieldy and difficult to use.  Then he made us study that painting of him over there on the wall – he obsessed about his practically naked body – it was really embarrassing.  And, worst of all, he taught us a very biased account of dwarven history and, if we weren’t willing to accept his theories, he would downgrade us when we wrote our essays.” 

 

“That wasn’t how it was!” Thorin wanted to shout.  Or perhaps it was and he had been too vain to understand that this was how they thought about him.

 

“He took us on a night patrol.  The weather was miserable but we went anyway, thinking that this was the very last thing we would have to do with him.  I volunteered to stand one of the watches because it was so cold and I wanted to save my friends from the misery.  Thorin placed his bedroll right out on the perimeter where no-one else could see him.  And I wondered at the time why he had done this.  But, as I was doing one of my rounds, he suddenly crept up behind me and pulled me to the ground.”  She began to shake and then buried her face in her hands.

 

“Take your time,” said Elessar gently.

 

“I couldn’t call out,” she finally continued.  “All breath was knocked from my body and then he pressed his lips over mine which further muffled any sound, and began to pull at my clothing.”

 

The courtroom sat in shocked silence.  This is bad, thought Thorin.  She tells a good story and they’ll never believe me.

 

“He…he….touched me.”  Idril was weeping now.  “And then he tried to rape me.”

 

“And what stopped him?” asked the judge, using those gentle tones again that didn’t bode well for Thorin.

 

“One of the girls must have been having a nightmare.  She called out in her sleep and I could hear someone asking if she were alright.  It seemed to stop him in his tracks and he pushed me away and then disappeared into the trees.  I woke up the next person to do guard duty, went back to my bedroll and cried myself to sleep.  The next day, he totally ignored me and I didn’t say anything to anyone because I was too ashamed.”

 

Idril was asked to sit down then and Thorin stood to give his defence from the dock.  I must look guilty already, he thought, scruffy and dishevelled as I am and standing in chains.  Idril looked fresh and sweet-smelling and beautiful.  He was no competition and he noticed the smallest of smirks lifting the corner of her mouth.

 

“All I can say,” muttered Thorin, “is that I tried to make my lessons enjoyable and I thought they found them fun.  That painting is on the wall for everyone to see and is considered Arnor’s finest achievement – I don’t see that I did anything wrong by taking them over to examine it.  The night patrol was at their request and I put my bedroll at a distance from them so that they could enjoy themselves together without me breathing down their necks.  I went to sleep and the next thing I knew, Idril was trying to get into my bedroll with me.  She said she was cold but I pushed her away and that was the end of that.”

 

It sounded feeble, even to his own ears.

 

Then the “supporters” all said their piece.  Thorin’s friends all stood up to say what a marvellous person he was and Idril’s friends said the same sort of things about her.  Neck and neck, thought Thorin.

 

Then Elessar wanted to know why none of Thorin’s pupils who had been in his class and who had also been out on the night patrol, had come forward to say a single word.  Earendur stood up slowly.  “Well, who do we support, sir?” he asked.  “A dwarf who’s a teacher but who is new to us or a girl who we’ve worked alongside for a year?  It seems a betrayal, whichever one we choose.”

 

“I’ll say something,” said Nennia sharply, standing up and walking to the podium.  “I was hoping,” she said, looking around at them all, “that someone would manage to justify Thorin and prove that Idril is telling lies.  But, since no-one has, I’d like to ask a question: Idril has only been with us for a year.  Where was she before that?”

 

The judge looked across to Idril.  “Lothlorien,” she muttered.

 

“And why,” asked Nennia, “did you leave?  Go on, tell the court what you told me when you first came here.”

 

“I got into trouble at my old school there and my father thought I’d do better at this one.”

 

“And, who is your father?” Nennia pressed.

 

“Are these family details important?” asked the judge impatiently.

 

“Yes,” said Nennia, “because her father is the elf lord, Riel, and she told me that he hated Thorin Oakenshield and that his aim in life was to destroy him.”

 

A murmur ran through the assembled company but Idril jumped to her feet.  “She’s making this all up,” she cried, “because she has a crush on that dwarf.  She’d do anything to save him.” The court room erupted but, before the judge could call them all to order, there was the sound of hooves and suddenly Thranduil burst into the hall.  “At last,” murmured Nennia.

 

The elf king was booted and spurred and covered in dust as if he had ridden hard for many miles.  He held out a sealed letter to the judge in a gloved hand.  “It is from Galadriel, from Lothlorien,” he said.  Elessar read it slowly and carefully.  And then he looked up.

 

“I have reached a verdict,” he said and a hush immediately fell upon the court.  “I have a letter here from the Lady of Lorien,” he continued, “vouching for the moral integrity of Thorin Oakenshield and explaining in detail the long-standing enmity between the dwarf and the elf lord, Riel.  And it seems to me that Riel’s daughter, Idril, out of some false allegiance to her father, perhaps prompted by him, perhaps not, has sought to destroy the dwarf and his marriage and bring about his removal from the Undying Lands.

 

“And so, my judgement in this case is: Thorin Oakenshield is innocent.” 

 

There was prolonged cheering and the guard unlocked Thorin’s chains.  “You came just in time,” grinned Thorin to Thranduil.

 

“But what took you so long?” snapped a relieved Nennia.  “I nearly had to take on the judge myself.”

 

Thranduil laughed.  “It’s Nennia you have to thank,” he said to Thorin.  “She told me all about Idril’s background and sent me off to speak with Galadriel.  And I rode as fast as I could, miss,” he said indignantly, turning back to the glowering girl.

 

“Well, if you call that fast, then I think it’s about time you bought yourself a new horse!”  And she stomped away.

 

“My, that’s a stroppy one,” said Thranduil, gazing after her.  “She’d keep me in line, I reckon.  How old did you say she was, Thorin?”

 

“Too old for you, Thranduil,”laughed Thorin and throwing his arm about the elven king’s shoulders, he took him off to treat him to a well-earned drink.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“So, they did like me after all,” said Thorin._

_“Of course they did,” said Tauriel as she closed the laptop, “and they thought your lessons were wonderful too.  But they just didn’t know whose side they should come down on.”_

_“Do you think my lessons did any good?” asked her husband._

_“Yes, absolutely,” replied the elf, getting up and giving him a hug.  “I’m sure they now have a much more balanced view of dwarven society after that and might even be prepared to challenge their own.  And that trial was a good thing as well.”_

_“It was?”_

_“Yes, because people were thinking all these bad things about you because of dwarven stereotypes and then they were proved wrong.  I’m sure that everything will be noticeably better from now on.”_

_“What, even my performance in the bedroom,” he grinned._

_“Well, we need a trial run before I can pass judgement on that,” she mused._

_“I’m ready for it if you are,” laughed the dwarf and he swept her up into his arms and made his exit from the room.)_

.o00o.

 

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and the Love Child. No, don’t worry! It’s not Thorin’s. It’s Thranduil’s. And is he in a panic about it, LOL! Come back next week and find out who’s having Thranduil’s baby and what Thorin is going to do about it.


	62. Thorin and the Love Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear! Thranduil’s going to be a daddy! ‘Nuff said, LOL!

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin……And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Love Child

 

Pt I

 

“Well,” said Tauriel on the night after the trial when she was feeling more than glad that she could at last hold Thorin in her arms again, “I hope you’re feeling a bit of gratitude towards Thranduil after he rode hell for leather to Galadriel’s court in an attempt to save you from expulsion from Valinor.”

 

“Yes,” replied Thorin, thinking that if he and his beloved wife had been parted, he would have lain down and turned his face to the wall.  “I owe him a lot: that’s twice you could say he has saved my life.  I must admit that I’m amazed at what he has done, especially since, if I had been found guilty, I would have been expelled and that would have left the field clear for him and you.”

 

“Ah, yes,” she said, “but he knows the strength of our love and he must have guessed that, whether we were together or not, no-one else would stand a chance with me.  And, on top of that, don’t you think he has come to value your friendship?”

 

“We’re friends?” joked Thorin, but when Tauriel dug him in the ribs, he kissed her and said, “Yes, we have a strange kind of friendship, perhaps a love/hate one, but it’s there all the same.  And, now, of course, I owe him.  I shall have to respond if he ever needs me.  I hope I can repay him when the time comes.”

 

“Then, perhaps you’d better write a story about it before he writes one first and creates a situation that you just can’t deal with.”

 

“Any situation that Thranduil gets himself into is likely to be a tricky one,” sighed Thorin, “but I’ll have a go.”  And he got up and dug the laptop out of the cupboard and began typing:

 

Thorin and the Love Child

 

_(“Oh, dear,” said Tauriel, “I don’t quite like the sound of that – seems a bit emotional and traumatic to me.”_

_“I agree,” the dwarf replied, “but that’s the title the laptop has just given me and so I think we may be stuck with it.”  And he raised his hands above the keyboard again.)_

Thorin was visiting Bilbo and Tauriel was in the kitchen when a wild-eyed Thranduil came galloping up the hill.  He dismounted untidily – not with his usual elven grace – abandoned his horse to nibble on the grass and stumbled into the forge with only a cursory knock.

 

“Thorin!  Thorin!  Tauriel!” he yelled.

 

Tauriel came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands.  “Thranduil?” she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

 

He was standing by the dining table and he was shaking and so she took him by the hand and made him sit down.  “Don’t move,” she said.  “I’ll just make you a cup of tea and then we can talk.”

 

She had soon produced the drink which she placed carefully in his trembling hands and, as he tried to take a sip, she sat down opposite him and said. “Tell me what has happened.”

 

“Idris is pregnant and I’m the father!” he gulped.

 

Tauriel immediately got up, came around the table and pulled him to her.  “Oh, Thranduil,” she said pityingly.  She knew from personal experience the trauma for both parties when silver betrothal rings had been cast in the fire and then a pregnancy was discovered.

 

The elven king sat there, holding her tightly around the waist and burying his face in her breast.  How comforting it was.  How lucky was Thorin that he could clasp Tauriel to him any time he needed her gentle care.  He thought that if he could just stay where he was for a few minutes then he would have the courage to tell her all about it.

 

But, it was just at that tender and inopportune moment that Thorin arrived back from visiting Bilbo.  He stood on the threshold and absorbed the scene: Thranduil and Tauriel were locked in a passionate embrace, with his wife gently stroking the elf king’s golden hair whilst the elf lord sat with his face pressed into his wife’s bosom.  The dwarf felt cold and distanced.  After all, hadn’t he always thought that one day he would catch them at it?

 

“Truth will out,” he said calmly but with a cruel twist to his lip.  Then he turned on his heel and walked from his home.  Tauriel caught up with him when he was part way down the hill.

 

“And where do you think you’re going?” she snapped.

 

“Don’t know,” mumbled Thorin, still dazed by all the thoughts tumbling through his mind.

 

Tauriel spun him around and gripped him by his plaits.  “I’m really angry, you know,” she said.  “All these years – _all these years_ – and the jealousy of dwarves still rears its head.”

 

Thorin just glared at her, his heart doing painful little somersaults. 

 

“Go on, guess,” she said, winding her fists even more tightly in his hair, “guess what Thranduil is doing here.”

 

“I’ve no idea,” he muttered.

 

“Of course you’ve an idea – the _wrong_ idea,” she shouted.  “But he came for our help and it was your name he was calling as he burst in through the door.”

 

“It was?” asked the dwarf, looking up hopefully through long, dark lashes.  Perhaps – just perhaps – he had misconstrued the scene.

 

“Didn’t you say only last night that you owed Thranduil?  And, now, the minute you get your chance, you throw a tantrum.”

 

“I didn’t throw a tantrum,” responded Thorin indignantly.  “I remained perfectly calm.”  Then a pause.  “So, what trouble is he in, then?”

 

“Idris is pregnant,” she said.

 

Thorin realised the seriousness of this straight away and his mind leaped back to a similar time when he had cast their rings in the fires of the forge and had only discovered later that Tauriel was pregnant.  His heart went out to the elven king immediately.  “I’m sorry, Tauriel,” he said.  “I think I need a kiss.”  But she just gave his plaits a sharp tug and strode back up the hill.

 

Thorin hurried after her and had overtaken her by the time they reached the forge.  Thranduil was standing anxiously at the door and Thorin drew him into a warm hug.  “Come on,” he said.  “Let’s go inside and you can tell us all about it.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Thranduil had set out for home after Thorin’s trial the previous day and an elf lord from Elrond’s court had accompanied him part of the way.  He had known Galdor for hundreds of years and they chatted amiably together.  Finally, he casually asked, “Do you see much of Idris around the court?”  Although he imagined that they would never get back together again, he was still interested in her welfare.

 

To Thranduil’s surprise, Galdor said nothing but compressed his lips in an embarrassed silence.  The elven king laughed:  “What’s the matter, Galdor?  She’s not betrothed again, is she?  I promise you I shan’t be jealous.”  Even though I would be a bit, he thought to himself.

 

“Er, no,” said Galdor hesitantly.  And then he seemed to make a decision.  “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’m rather unhappy about the secrecy……….She’s pregnant, you see.”

 

For a moment, Thranduil thought he must mean that she was pregnant by a new lover but when he caught Galdor’s look of sympathy, the penny dropped.  “You mean, it’s mine?” he gasped.

 

The elf lord nodded.  “She doesn’t want you to know.  She says that she can do without your interference.”

 

At first Thranduil was upset and then he was really angry.  And then, to Galdor’s concern, he spurred his horse and rode off at speed towards Elrond’s court.

 

He got there late that evening and strode up to Elrond’s apartments.  “Where is she?” he snapped.

 

Elrond immediately knew what Thranduil had come for and replied calmly: “She doesn’t want to see you, I’m afraid.”

 

“I have the right,” was Thranduil’s response and Elrond couldn’t help but agree with him.  “I’ll take you to her,” he said.  “But, I shall stay in the room whilst you talk with her.”

 

Idris looked apprehensive and even afraid when she opened the door to the two of them.  “It’s alright Idris,” said Elrond quietly, “I shall stay in the room.  And you’re not here to cause trouble, are you?” he said, turning towards the elven king.  But Thranduil just gave him a noncommittal look.

 

“So, you’re pregnant,” Thranduil said curtly.

 

“Yes,” was the short reply.

 

“And it’s mine.”

 

“Whose else would it be?” she said sharply.

 

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied rather nastily.  “You haven’t exactly kept in touch.”

 

“Careful,” murmured Elrond, the referee.

 

“I didn’t want you to know,” continued Idris, “and I’m sorry you have found out.  This is my baby and I have decided to bring it up on my own.”

 

Thranduil turned pleadingly to Elrond: “She can’t do this, can she?”

 

Elrond shrugged.

 

The elf king turned back to Idris.  “It’s my child too and I demand to have a share in it.  In fact,” he said haughtily, “if it’s a son then he is the son of a king and one of the heirs to my throne.  If you’re arguing about rights, then I feel that my status gives me the right to remove the child from this court and bring it up in my own.”

 

“He can’t do that, can he, Elrond?” cried Idris, turning worriedly towards him.

 

Elrond looked concerned.  “I’m not quite sure what the situation is with a child of royal blood.  It will have to be investigated.”

 

“Get out,” said Idris with quiet passion, turning back to her one-time betrothed.  “You’ll never have the child, do you understand?”

 

Thanduil left then, in a fury, and rode back to his palace late that night.  But he couldn’t sleep and, after pacing up and down his room in distress half the night, he got back on his horse as the dawn came and rode for Thorin’s forge.  The dwarf would help him; the dwarf would know what to do.

 

.o00o.

 

“And that’s about it,” he sighed.  Tauriel kissed him on the cheek and Thorin patted him gently on the shoulder.

“Let’s sit outside,” said Thorin to the king and he gave Tauriel a look.  She could get far too empathetic and emotional sometimes when dealing with the problems of friends.  He wanted to have a chat with Thranduil on his own and perhaps the elf would be more open with him if Tauriel weren’t there.

 

They sat on the bench in the wintry sun.  “So, fill me in on all the details, Thranduil,” he said.  “Why is this child so important to you?  Why not let the child be brought up by its mother if that’s what she wants?”

 

Thranduil answered his question with a question.  “So, if you and Tauriel hadn’t been reconciled when Arion was born, would you have been happy to let him be brought up by her in Elrond’s court without any input from you?”

 

“No,” growled the dwarf.  “He is an heir of Durin.  He would be my responsibility.”

 

“And what if he had been a girl?”

 

Thorin thought of Poppy and Rose and how much love he had for them.  They had brought joy to his life and the thought of being without them whilst they grew up was impossible to imagine.

 

“It makes no difference whether they are male or female,” he said.  “They are mine.”

 

“Well, that’s how I feel,” said Thranduil.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“But there’s something else going on, isn’t there?” asked Thorin thoughtfully.  “Something you haven’t mentioned yet.  You already have a son – an heir - so why are you so desperate for another child?  You’re very, very upset and I’d like to know why.”

 

Thranduil stared out to sea for a long time. “I’m a failed father,” he finally said.  “I want to try again.  And this is my chance.”

 

“Failed?” asked Thorin in surprise.  “I thought you and Legolas got on well together.  And you must be proud of him.  After all, he helped save Middle-earth.”

 

“We’re not as close as you might think,” sighed Thranduil.  “He barely tolerates me sometimes.”

 

Thorin grinned inwardly, thinking that Legolas was not the only one.

 

“And there are things about my marriage and his childhood you know nothing of.”

 

“So, tell me,” said Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil had met Eriannith when he was still only a prince, when Oropher, his father, was yet king.  He was one of the Sindar elves, she one of the Noldor.

 

“Talk about love across the divide,” said Thranduil, remembering their difficulties and the pain of a young love that had been forcibly kept apart.  “And you believe you had problems.  Why do you think I let Tauriel go so easily when she wanted to marry you?”

 

“I always wondered,” said Thorin.  “I expected that your disgust for our differences would have led to a bigger fight.”

 

“I _was_ disgusted,” muttered Thranduil, “but a brief remembrance of Eriannith meant I couldn’t stand in Tauriel’s way, as my father once stood in mine.  The Noldor and the Sindar have a violent history, you know, and we despised them as the Kin-slayers.  I met and fell in love with her during one of my visits to Lorinand.  Her father, Hillindil, was a great elven smith – you would have liked him – one of those who helped forge the rings of power.  She was very beautiful and I was infatuated with her.  Perhaps it wasn’t true love, but I thought it was at the time and I overwhelmed her with my attentions – just as I did Idris – I can be very forceful when I want something – and she thought she was in love with me too.  And the more my father tried to interfere, the more our passion grew.”

 

“So, how did you finally get together, then?” asked Thorin curiously.  He was finding it very difficult to imagine a young Thranduil struggling in the toils of love.  But, the elven king was so old that Thorin always found it difficult to get his head around the elf lord’s past history.

 

“It didn’t happen for a long, long time and the two of us suffered considerably.  But, then came the Last Alliance of Elves and Men when we fought the hosts of Sauron and my father was killed.  My first action as king was to marry Eriannith.  And, at first, we were ecstatically happy.”

 

“And then you brought out the handcuffs,” grinned Thorin, remembering a remark that Thranduil had made.

 

The elf lord gave a wry smile.  “If only it had been as simple as that,” he said.  “But, when I brought Eriannith back to Mirkwood, she found the Silvan elves there very unsophisticated and she was always trying to change them.  They didn’t warm to her because of it and she became very unhappy…… We began to argue a lot.”

 

“But surely the birth of Legolas must have brought some happiness into both your lives?” queried Thorin.

 

“You would have thought so, wouldn’t you?” sighed Thranduil.  “But it only made things worse.  She yearned for her people and she was always taking him away on extended visits to her family. I hardly saw him when he was a young child and that’s when a distance opened up between me and my son.  In the end, Eriannith said that she was returning to her people and that, from there, she would go into the West.  Our hatred for each other was so strong by then that when I said she could go but that Legolas was my heir, she agreed to leave him behind.”

 

Thorin just couldn’t imagine Tauriel abandoning her children whatever the circumstances and could only guess at the emotions that must have been swirling about at the time.

 

“She went home – and then she died.  Perhaps she died of grief after losing Legolas – I don’t know.  But, none of us were able to handle our feelings.  Legolas was a young lad and blamed me for her death – he kept out of my way after that.  In fact, I blamed myself too and I missed her terribly.  I withdrew from my son and left him in the care of anyone who was interested.  I’m amazed he grew up as well as he did – although I wonder sometimes whether or not Gimli isn’t some kind of father substitute.”

 

Thorin reached out and placed a hand on Thranduil’s arm.  He wondered at the misery the family had endured and, as he often did, thanked Mahal for sending him Tauriel.

 

As if reading his thoughts, Thranduil continued: “I did try to resolve the issue, as you know.  I fell in love with Tauriel – and it was love, not the infatuation that I had felt for Eriannith.  Legolas thought she was wonderful and I pressed her to marry me.  But you know the outcome.”  His head sagged in defeat.

 

Thorin was surprised that he felt no jealousy, only sadness that there hadn’t been a Tauriel for Thranduil as well as for him.

 

“And so, Legolas grew up,” the elf finally continued, “and his thoughts were not my thoughts.  I shut myself away in Mirkwood where I felt safe; he wanted to explore the world – and save it – even if it meant risking his own life.  Now he has Gimli and I’m redundant.”

 

Thorin couldn’t imagine feeling redundant in his children’s lives.  No wonder Thranduil wanted a second chance with another child.

 

“I’d be a hands-on father this time,” he said, smiling at the thought.

 

Thorin smiled too, trying to picture a hands-on Thranduil, up to the elbows in soiled baby – and found he couldn’t.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” grinned the elf, “but this time, I’d really try.”

 

Thorin made his decision.  “So you want me to go to Idris as your negotiator?” he asked.

 

“If only you would,” said the elven king.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thorin set off for Elrond’s palace later that day.  Tauriel wasn’t quite sure where she stood on the matter.  “My heart bleeds for him,” she told her husband before he left, “but I’m a woman and I cannot approve of taking a child from its mother.  He did that once before and look where that ended up.”

 

“Well, perhaps I can find a solution,” soothed Thorin, “and, for that, I need to talk to Idris.”

 

“Don’t bully her!” warned Tauriel.  “I know you!”

 

“As if I would,” he replied, gently kissing her goodbye. 

 

But, that did not reassure his wife.  The only real solution would be for the two to get back together again, she thought, so that they could do their parenting together; but she really couldn’t see that happening.

 

.o00o.

 

“Come in,” said Elrond to Thorin, delighted but puzzled to see the dwarf.  He invited him into his apartments and set out refreshments for him.  “And what can I do for you?”

 

Thorin took a sip of wine.  “I’m here in a doubtless unexpected capacity,” he said.  “I’m acting as a go-between.”

 

Elrond raised an enquiring eyebrow and then a slight frown passed over his face.  “You’re not here on Thranduil’s behalf, are you?” he asked.  “Now, that is a surprise.”

 

“Why should it surprise you?” asked Thorin, taking slight offence.  “Don’t you think I’m up to the task?”

 

“Of course,” laughed Elrond, “but I find it difficult to imagine you as a friend of Thranduil.”

 

“And isn’t a dwarf good enough to be a friend of an elf?” was the touchy response.

 

“Well,” smiled Elrond, “I consider you a friend.  So, I obviously didn’t mean that.  But Thranduil is such a difficult so-and-so that I’m surprised he’s got any friends at all.”

 

Thorin harrumphed.  “You may not believe it, but he is a friend – and a good friend too.”  And suddenly he realised that this was the truth.  “So, I would just like to have the opportunity of speaking to Idris on his behalf – and perhaps something can be sorted out.”

 

Elrond was quite moved.  He remembered how he had looked after Tauriel when she had been pregnant and how the stubborn dwarf had finally turned up on his doorstep.  He remembered the birth of Arion and the couple’s reconciliation.  He had married them, just as, later, he had married all of Thorin’s children.  His love for the whole family was very strong but…… “You will not effect a reconciliation between Thranduil and Idris, you know, so don’t go thinking of your own case.”

 

“No, I assumed that.  I understand that I need to go about things in a different way.”

 

And so, Elrond escorted Thorin to Idris’ rooms.  “I think I can trust you on your own,” he said, before taking his leave.

 

When Idris opened the door, she first looked startled and then flung her arms around Thorin’s neck.  “How lovely to see you once more!” she cried, remembering how he had rescued her from Thranduil.  “Come in!  Come in!”  Thorin stepped inside quickly before she found out the purpose of his visit and changed her mind.

 

Once the door was safely shut behind him, he said: “I’ve come to talk with you, Idris, on Thranduil’s behalf.”

 

Idris sagged.  “I thought you were on my side, Thorin,” she said.

 

“I’m on your baby’s side,” he replied.

 

Idris gave him a searching look then invited him further into her apartment.  “I knew I would have to face this in the end,” she sighed as they both sat down.  “I was foolishly hoping that he would never find out.”

 

“You know he would have found out in the end,” said Thorin gently.  “It’s best to sort things out now and not after the birth.  You don’t want to have endless rows in front of a child.”

 

“So, what is your solution, if any?” she asked.  “You know I trust you to be even-handed.”

 

“Well,” suggested Thorin with furrowed brow, “you could stick to your guns and keep the child to yourself whilst denying Thranduil access.  Or, the opposite could happen: Thranduil could take on sole care of the child and deny _you_ access.”  Idris looked horrified at the thought.  “And both these choices would be very cruel, don’t you think?”  Idris nodded her head slowly, realising that she was rejecting her own preferred desire.

 

“And so,” said Thorin, “you must obviously share the baby.”

 

“‘Share’ is a horrible word,” muttered Idris.  “It sounds as if the baby is a thing to be cut up and portioned out between us.”

 

“Yes, the word carries unpleasant associations,” mused the dwarf, “which is why you must make every other aspect as pleasant as possible.  So, first thing: you two were in love once.  Don’t you think you could be friends at the very least?  I’m sure your child would like that.”

 

“I suppose so,” she said grudgingly.  “I decided I couldn’t marry him because he was a control freak but, if I don’t have to live with him then I expect I might like him enough to rub along with him.”

 

“And so, the next thing to decide is whether you do a kind of pass the parcel with the child or whether one of you has the child whilst the other is a frequent visitor,” were Thorin’s next words.

 

“I shall look after my baby and Thranduil can visit,” said Idris straight away, getting her bid in first.

 

Thorin bent his gaze upon her until she looked away.  “I suppose you think it should be the other way around,” she said curtly.  “And your reasons are…..?”

 

“Thranduil lives in a large and beautiful palace with plenty of space and servants at his command.  You live in a couple of rooms in someone else’s home.  Thranduil is a king with responsibilities: he can’t always be expected to dash off here for the weekend.  You have time on your hands and are free to do as you wish.”

 

Idris pulled an angry face:  “But it isn’t all about stuff and palaces and servants.  I would _love_ my child.”

 

“And so would Thranduil,” said Thorin gently.

 

And then Idris wept on Thorin’s shoulder.  Finally she dried her eyes and sniffed: “Well, as long as he doesn’t keep moaning at the amount of time I’m spending there.”

 

“I’m sure,” said Thorin, “that if you want your own apartment in the palace, you will be welcome to move in.”  Then he laughed.  “Thranduil will be all in a flap – can’t you see him – and he will be totally relieved to have the baby’s mother at his side.”

 

Then Idris laughed too as she thought of Thranduil trying to be the concerned father of a tiny baby.  “Alright,” she sighed at last, “you win.  You can go back and tell him.”

 

“All three of you have won, Idris,” he said quietly.  “No losers here.”  And then he gave her a hug.

 

.o00o.

 

“She’s halfway through her pregnancy at the moment,” Thorin told Thranduil.  “The baby will be born in the spring, in Ethuil.  And then she’ll move into her own set of apartments in your palace and share the child’s upbringing with you.”

 

“Well, you’re a wonder, Thorin,” said Thranduil, sighing in relief.  “Apart from the lack of sex,” and he pulled a face, “we’ll be just like the regular parents of a young child.”

 

“No sex is pretty par for the course,” muttered Thorin.

 

“What?” said the elf.

 

“Nothing,” said Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“And I think you’re a wonder too,” said Tauriel, as she bent over and gave her husband a kiss._

_“He doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for,” laughed Thorin.  “This will be the equivalent of a new experience for him.  By the summer next year, I wonder if he will be wishing that he hadn’t fought so hard for parenthood.”_

_“Will it change him in any way?” Tauriel pondered._

_“Never,” decided Thorin.  “If the baby is handsome or beautiful or clever, he’ll be even more arrogant and we shan’t hear the end of it.”_

_Tauriel laughed and stroked her husband’s long, dark hair.  “Come on, Thorin,” whispered Tauriel, “you deserve a reward after all your hard work.  Let’s go to bed.”_

_And Thorin snapped shut the laptop and eagerly followed Tauriel out of the room.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin, Toren and Tourelle. At last, we get to read a part of one of Lostwithiel’s racy novels where ‘Toren’ and ‘Tourelle’ are really just pseudonyms for Thorin and Tauriel. What will these two great heroes get up to in the story and who or what will they save on their adventure? And will the lives of these made-up characters somehow cross paths with the denizens of the Undying Lands?


	63. Thorin, Toren and Tourelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this week, we get to see inside the pages of one of Lostwithiel’s books about Toren and Tourelle. Tauriel refuses to read any of his novels because she considers them too pornographic. Can Thorin persuade her to have a go and can he persuade his son-in-law to churn out yet another epic?
> 
>  
> 
> My apologies to L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter, authors of Conan the Barbarian.

 

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin, Toren and Tourelle

 

Pt I

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Thorin,” muttered Tauriel, burying her face in the pillow, “just turn that lamp off and go to sleep!”

 

“Erm, just a bit longer,” Thorin murmured.  “I’ve nearly finished.”

 

Thorin was sitting up in bed, glued to Lostwithiel’s latest blockbuster: _Toren and Tourelle Save Everyone._  “Phew!” he finally said, closing the book and studying the cover.  “That was his best one so far.”  The cover was pretty lurid and tacky but, since it was designed by his daughter, Poppy, Thorin found much to admire in it.  The muscled form of Toren the Barbarian crouched on a rock, axe and sword in hand, his dark mane of hair blowing in the wind and his blue eyes gazing piercingly into the middle distance.  Standing back to back with him, but turning just enough to show her bosom bursting out of her armour, was Tourelle the Warrior Queen, her bow drawn and her golden hair flowing almost to her waist.

 

“They save everyone this time,” he said in awe.

 

“Oh,” replied Tauriel testily, “wasn’t saving Middle-earth, then the World , then the Universe quite enough?”

 

“You really ought to read them, Tauriel,” enthused Thorin.  “You don’t know what you’re missing.  You’ve got a very clever son-in-law, not to mention your own daughter.  Just look at this picture!”  And he thrust the book under her nose.

 

Tauriel swatted it away and determinedly closed her eyes.  “Loath as I am to pour scorn on my children,” she said, “but it looks like pornographic rubbish to me.”

 

“You’re a hard woman, Tauriel,” sighed Thorin.  “They’re not so much pornographic as exciting and – umm – titillating.  Even Thranduil enjoys them.”

 

“That’s no recommendation,” retorted his wife.  “I can imagine that these books are right up his street.  I’m just surprised that you like them too.  I thought you had more taste.”

 

Thorin looked grumpy: “Well, if I’ve got bad taste, so has most of Valinor.  These books have become very big sellers.  I reckon that you’re the only person for miles around who hasn’t read them.”

 

Tauriel sat up and folded her arms crossly.  “How can you enjoy them, Thorin, when they’re such a weird and exaggerated portrayal of the two of us?”  And she pointed at Tourelle.  “Just look at her!  Just look at her breasts hanging out like that!”

 

“I’m looking,” grinned Thorin.

 

“Surely you wouldn’t really want me to look like that?” she asked in disgust.

 

“Wouldn’t I?” answered the dwarf in a sultry whisper and he bent over and nuzzled her neck.

 

“Oh…….you!” she said, slapping him away.  “Everyone stares at us when we’re out and they’re obviously wondering just how much of it is true.”

 

“You mean, like, did we or did we not slay the Monstrous Terror of Eumenor?”

 

“Stop being deliberately stupid, Thorin,” she snapped.  “I’m talking about all the sex that those two indulge in.”

 

“Definitely not made up,” laughed Thorin.  “Well, not much, anyway.  That Lostwithiel has got a very vivid imagination and it amazes me just what insight he appears to have into our love-life.”

 

“But, I feel so – so – exposed!” cried Tauriel.  “We might just as well set out chairs in our bedroom and sell tickets!”

 

Thorin drew her into his arms and gave her a cuddle.  “Just try to read a chapter or two,” he murmured, “and then you’ll see that it’s not all about sex but about how much they love each other.  And, at the end of the day, only the two of us know just how much is true and how much is made up.  Let everyone wonder – I don’t care.  And it doesn’t seem to have damaged our image in any way.  In fact, we seem to have been given a boost in everyone’s opinion.  We’re brave, we’re memorable, we’re sexy, we regularly save the world.  What’s not to like?”

 

“I suppose so,” grumbled Tauriel.

 

“And now,” said Thorin silkily, “I’d like to practise a little idea that definitely isn’t part of my repertoire but is part of Toren’s.”  And he pulled her down under the coverlet.

 

Some time later, as they both collapsed back on the pillows, Tauriel let out a loud laugh.  “All right,” she said with a giggle, “you’ve convinced me.  I shall read a few chapters tomorrow.”

 

.o00o.

 

The following morning, Tauriel curled up in a chair with a cup of tea and _Toren and Tourelle Save Middle-earth._   Thorin had his breakfast, did the washing-up, went outside and smoked his pipe, came back in again, twiddled his thumbs, then stared enviously at Tauriel and wished he had a book to read too.  He wondered how much longer it would take Lostwithiel to write the next in the series.  And then he decided to give him a bit of a push.  He went to the cupboard, got out the laptop and typed:

 

Thorin, Toren and Tourelle

 

“When are you going to write your next book, ‘Thiel?” asked Poppy.

 

“When I can think of an idea,” replied her husband.  “Those two have saved everyone and everywhere and I’ve come up against a bit of a brick wall.”

 

“Well, they haven’t saved Valinor yet,” laughed Poppy.  “Perhaps you can bring the story closer to home and even involve some of the locals – that should push up sales.  An awful lot of my friends would love to be saved by Toren the Barbarian.”  And she giggled at the thought of it.

 

“I know that seems a good idea,” said the elf, “but the trouble is, what can Toren and Tourelle save the people of the Undying Lands _from_?  There are no monsters, no orcs, no diseases, no dangers, no death even – it’s a very boring place.  If only we had a good villain – you know, like Azog or Smaug or Sauron - then perhaps I might be inspired, but we haven’t.”

 

Poppy wrinkled her brow.  “What about lesser villains?  Perhaps they could stir up a bit of trouble.  We’ve got Olorien, the alchemist, and Riel, who really hates our family and even Mary Sue’s step-father, Dave.  He’s a real thug from what I can make out and I don’t think that Elrond is making much progress with him yet.”

 

“Hmm,” pondered Lostwithiel.  “You might be onto something there.  I think I’ll just pop up to the forge and borrow the laptop.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

He was only gone five minutes and then he returned with the computer under his arm, a wide grin on his face.

 

“Your mother has finally been persuaded to start one of my books,” he said in pleased tones.  “She’s so absorbed that she hardly noticed me come in.  And your father practically forced the laptop on me and kicked me out the door.  I think he’s suffering from withdrawal symptoms.”

 

“Well, your books are quite addictive,” Poppy laughed.  “They do fill a bit of a hole in our sad, boring lives.  I can’t wait either, so you’d better get stuck in and I’ll make you a cup of tea and think about a design for the new cover.”  And she went cheerfully off into the kitchen whilst Lostwithiel opened the laptop and began:

 

**_TOREN AND TOURELLE SAVE VALINOR_ **

_(he wrote in fancy lettering)_

 

_Prologue_

_Listen, O People of Valinor, and know that I sing of a time undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars.  And thither came Toren, the slayer, to tread the jewelled thrones of the Earth beneath his booted foot.  And the fate of these kingdoms balanced on his blade alone._

_And know yet further that thither also came Tourelle, the beauteous warrior queen, tall of form, fair of face but strong of arm, she who would be the only conqueror of Toren the Barbarian.  And the two of them were the mightiest of their day and many tales were spun about them, wherefore it is now difficult to perceive the truth amongst the legends._

 

THE CHRONICLES OF VALINOR

 

.o00o.

 

**Chapter the first: THE LABORATORY**

 

_Privileged was I, Galfrey, amongst the scribes to have heard from the lips of my king, Toren the Great, the story of his travails and high adventures that befell him along the way to the summit of his greatness.  Here is the tale as he told it to me in the later days of his reign, when age had laid its fell hand upon him, albeit lightly._

 

.o00o.

 

Dawn crept into the western realms of Valinor, turning the spires of the mountain tops rose and gold.  The tender morning light awoke Tourelle from her dreams and she flung back the furs and stretched her svelte limbs in sensuous enjoyment of the sun’s tender kisses.  Then she reached out to touch the naked body of her lover, but he was gone.  The magnificent form of the barbarian no longer lay beside her and when she gazed around the cave, she saw him silhouetted  against the light, his body, still unclothed, a stark blackness in the entrance, his face turned to the distant horizons.

 

He raised his heavily maned head and snuffed the morning air.  Like a beautiful and majestic animal, she thought.

 

“I sense trouble in the east,” his dark voice growled.  “We must go down to the sea.”  But, first, he returned once more to her bed.

 

.o00o.

 

Dave was so incredibly bored, he could eat himself.  Stuck as he was in Elrond’s palace, as the elf lord’s guest but actually his prisoner, he could find absolutely nothing to do.  He would like to get drunk but they would only allow him one small glass of wine with the evening meal.  He would love a beef burger or a curry or a Chinese but they only served delicate plates of mainly vegetarian food and he felt hungry most of the time.  The women were very snoggable but they wouldn’t let him close enough even for a conversation let alone a bit of ‘ow’s-yer-father.  A good lie-in would be nice, but they hauled him out of bed at crack of dawn to attend a special ‘reforming’ course on the right and proper way to think and behave.  And these were so snooze-worthy that he never listened to a single word.

 

Elrond tutted at him.  “If you ever want to be integrated into our society, then you’ll have to try harder,” he said after Dave had failed yet another written test on the elven moral code.

 

Well, he didn’t want to be integrated: he just wanted to go home to Shepperton.  But since the only route was through a portal in a lake that didn’t appear to be operational at the moment, that seemed unlikely.

 

He spent his days wandering around the palace.  It was an endless maze and at least took the edge off his boredom.  Most of the rooms were empty but, at the end of one long corridor, he finally found Olorien’s laboratory.

 

Dave stuck his head around the door, then coughed at the fumes.  Through the clouds of smoke he could see a large room whose walls were lined with shelves.  And, on the shelves were hundreds of large glass jars filled with powders and various liquids in jewel-like colours.  Just like an old-fashioned chemist’s shop, he thought.

 

“Are you a chemist?” he asked, raising his voice to the elf dressed in long, black robes whom he could see stirring some bubbling liquid across the room.

 

Olorien looked up.  “No,” he said.  “Not a chemist but an al-chemist.”  And he smiled in a welcoming manner.  Very few people visited him these days, not since he had poured one of his potions into the mead at that wedding.  Well, it had only been meant as a bit of fun, but people had no sense of humour and he had been removed from Thranduil’s court to this one where Elrond was supposed to be keeping an eye on him.  Not that the elf lord was doing a particularly good job.  If he claimed he was brewing useful medicinal compounds, then who could prove otherwise?

 

And here was someone else whom Elrond should be watching a bit more closely: Dave.  He knew all about Dave.  Who didn’t?  He was a Man, Mary Sue’s stepfather, and, like her, he had somehow entered Valinor from another world through an amazing portal that, unfortunately, no longer seemed to work.  He had been looking for a suitable opportunity to have a chat with him but none had arisen.  And now Dave had walked straight into his laboratory.

 

“Come in, Dave,” he said with a sly smile.  “I think we may have a lot to talk about.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

                        **Chapter the second: THE WAY IS OPENED**

 

“I think that we might have a lot to discuss,” said Olorien.

 

“Well, I can’t think what, unless ‘alchemist’ is shorthand for ‘magician’,” said Dave grumpily.  “Are you any good at opening magic portals?”

 

“I just might be,” said Olorien.  “I’ve been working on it since your arrival.  I’m ready to have a try but we need that discussion first.”

 

“So, what’s in it for you if you help me back to my world?” asked Dave suspiciously.

 

“Well,” said the alchemist, “I’m ready to test out a doorway to Middle-earth.  And, if that works, I think I can open that one down in the lake.”

 

“Why Middle-earth?” asked Dave curiously.

 

“Because I have some friends there whom I would like to invite over to Valinor,” he said with an evil leer.

 

.o00o.

 

On a rocky ridge, the barbarian and the queen braced themselves against the strength of the wintry blast.  Toren stood, legs apart, his large frame wrapped in furs against the bite of the wind.  Flinging back his cloak to float like a flag against the nighted sky, the hero drew from its scabbard an enormous, two-handed sword, the weapon of a god.

 

“There,” he growled.  “There is the sea!”  And he pointed down from the mountains with his shining blade.

 

Tourelle pointed also, with a long, lithe arm: “And there is the great palace!” she said.

 

He wrapped an arm about her shoulder and muttered: “And it is from there that I feel the evil will come.”

 

.o00o.

 

Olorien had cast his spells and Dave had sat in awe as slowly a swirling mass had appeared at the end of the room.  “It is the portal,” the alchemist said.  And Dave could well believe it.

 

Unknown to anyone but himself, Olorien had been a secret ally of Saruman, before and during the War of the Ring.  He had visited him when ostensibly travelling to other parts.  The wizard had shared with him some of his powers and had shown him the great orcs that he was creating and which he marked with the white hand.  Most importantly, Saruman showed him how to control these evil creatures, expecting that Olorien would act as a lieutenant when the time came.

 

But, when that time did come, he had been too afraid and he had withdrawn back to Thranduil’s palace in Mirkwood.  He had been relieved when Saruman was killed because now the secret of his conspiracy was his alone.  But, he knew where the remnants of the orc army were still hiding after their defeat and he intended to return and fetch them.

 

“Stand well back from the portal,” he told Dave, “but don’t be afraid when my ‘friends’ come through.  I shall have them well under control.”

 

And, hours later, when the orcs poured through into Valinor, Dave could see it was so.  Olorien drove them into a neighbouring room with a whip and with sharp words uttered in a dark and ugly tongue.  There he had stored a great pile of weapons with which he equipped them.  They looked a fearsome crew, thought Dave.  And he wondered what Olorien had planned to do with them.

 

“I plan to make my fellow elves afraid, to intimidate them and gather together a great wagon load of their treasure……….and then we shall take it into your world where you shall be my guide and where they cannot follow.”

 

Dave’s eyes shone with greed.  He had entered this world in the hope of snatching a handful of gold rings.  But a wagon load!  And he indulged in some dreams of a greatly enhanced life-style.

 

“But….” And a thought came to his mind.  “If they can’t die in the Undying Lands, why should they be intimidated?  And can’t they fight back?”

 

“We can kill the ones who aren’t elves and, as for those who are – we might not be able to kill them but we can torture them; we can cause them pain; we can cut flesh and break limbs.  We can threaten them through their loved ones,” was Olorien’s response.  “And hardly any of them have their weapons to hand.  They’re tucked away somewhere, rusting with dis-use.”

 

“Anyone in mind who might make a good hostage?” asked Dave, suddenly thinking that, actually, he wasn’t an elf and that it might be wise for him to stay at the rear of any action.

 

“Yes: Idris.  She’s the ex betrothed of Thranduil; Elrond is very fond of her and she’s pregnant which makes her vulnerable.”

 

And so, with these plans laid, they set about unleashing their orcs upon the palace. 

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Chapter the third: **THE AXE AND THE BOW**

 

The two riders entered Elrond’s courtyard.  “The evil has come,” said the barbarian, looking around him.  Elf lords lay fallen, wounded and groaning whilst their friends attended to them.  Broken chests and other debris also lay strewn in disarray on the ground.

 

“We have come in your hour of need,” he said to the elf lord, Elrond.  And he drew his mighty axe from his back.

 

And Elrond, who had heard of the fame of Toren and Tourelle, mightiest of warriors, looked upon their faces and knew them.  “You are very welcome here,” he said and he told them of the disaster that had befallen them, of the sudden attack by a great band of orcs, conjured out of nowhere and led by the alchemist, Olorien, and the Man, Dave, of the capture of the elf, Idris, whom they now held hostage, of their demand that they load a wagon full of gold and treasure and how, with this wagon and their hostage and the orcs, they had set out along the coast only an hour since.

 

_(“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Poppy, reading over Lostwithiel’s shoulder.  “Poor Idris.”  She had come to show him a rough sketch for the front cover and it was the usual eye-boggling nonsense with muscles and breasts poking out all over the place and hair blowing in the wind as the two fended off a circle of orcs._

_“But, surely, you’ve got chapters and chapters to go before the end of the story?  And yet there doesn’t seem to be much of the story left: our two heroes set off in pursuit, kill all the orcs and then rescue Idris. The End.”_

_“Oh, this is where I start the padding that everyone seems to enjoy.”_

_“The padding?” she asked._

_“Yes, you know: chapters and chapters describing endless bloody skirmishes with a million gory details as they begin to catch up with and overtake the orcs and, best of all, a million torrid sex scenes.  Those will probably require some careful planning.”_

_“Those are the best bits,” laughed Poppy.  “So, you’d better get writing.  I expect you to have made good progress by supper-time.”)_

 

.o00o.

 

(chapters and chapters of expurgated text).......................  Chapter the twentieth: **CONCLUSION**

 

Toren and Tourelle reached the lake just as Olorien created a whirlpool in the water.  He’s done it, thought Dave in glee!  He was seated on the wagon and he wondered if it were possible to drive the whole thing through the portal because they would otherwise have to use the orcs as porters to transport the treasure and he wasn’t so sure that he wanted to introduce these creatures into his nice, cosy world.  Olorien had implied that they were almost invincible and yet, half of them had been slaughtered already by their rather scary pursuers and so perhaps they weren’t so indestructible after all.  And, besides, he comforted himself, if they were actually forced to take the creatures with them, a quick round from an automatic would soon sort them out – providing he could get hold of a gun quickly, that was.

 

Idris, looking very pale and very pregnant, was seated with her wrists bound next to him on the wagon seat.  She was frightened of her captor but she was also frightened of the orcs and was praying to Eru that she would not be abandoned alone with them by the side of the lake when Dave and Olorien disappeared off through the portal.  They had been pursued all the way along the coast and, now and again, a few orcs would peel off to engage with the hunters.  They would hear a distant clash of swords, and loud shouts and screams, but the orcs never returned.  They seemed to her like sacrifices, bones thrown to the pursuing wolves, in the hope that their progress would allow her captors sufficient time to make their escape.

 

The wagon, the horseman and the party of a dozen or so orcs crested the hill and they could finally see the lake stretching out below them.  Dave lashed the horses and they hastened down the other side.  They found the spot where he had made his way through from the gravel pit in his own world and, whilst the remaining orcs surrounded them in a protective circle, Olorien began to cast his carefully-formulated spells of opening.

 

And there it was!  The portal!  The water churned in a whirlpool and bubbles frothed to the surface.  Then Dave groaned inwardly as Olorien ordered the orcs to unload the caskets of treasure.  “Well, we can’t carry it ourselves,” said the elf lord and Dave supposed that that was true.

 

He drove the wagon forward into the water, as close as possible to the whirling mass.  “Stay on the wagon with Idris,” snapped Olorien.  “We don’t want her interfering.”

 

Dave turned towards the elf.  She was white-faced and trembling.  “What are you going to do with me?” She whispered.  And Dave turned towards Olorien with a look of enquiry on his face.

 

“Shall we take her with us?” he asked hopefully, thinking how beautiful she was.

 

But much to his disappointment, Olorien shook his head.  “No, she could give us a lot of trouble.  We’ll leave her here with a couple of orcs: they’ll take care of her.”  And he gave an evil grin.

 

“Is the door one-way?” asked Dave.

 

“Yes,” said Olorien as the orcs unloaded the last of the chests.  “Once we’re through, it will close.  No-one can follow us but we can never return.”

 

“Suits me,” said Dave.

 

At that, two of the orcs suddenly fell in quick succession, with arrows through their throats.  Tourelle the warrior queen, standing firmly with her lithe and muscled legs spread apart let out a triumphant ululation from the brow of the hill whilst Toren, sword and axe in either hand, came racing down its slopes. 

 

His eyes glowed a volcanic blue as the wild love of battle awoke in his barbaric heart.  But Olorien called his orcs to form a shield wall between him and the magnificent warrior.  “Kill him!” He snarled.  Then, turning towards the wagon, he shouted to Dave: “Get hold of her!  We’ll see if they still attack if her safety and that of Thranduil’s unborn child are threatened.”

 

Dave stood up and, seizing Idris, held her as a shield, his knife at her throat.  The last thing he heard was the whistle of an arrow as it pierced his eye and he dropped from the wagon into the water.  Olorien gaped as his body was sucked into the vortex and then disappeared.  With hands still bound, Idris clambered down from the wagon and waded away through the shallows of the lake.

 

Olorien had other things to think about as the barbarian attacked and Tourelle gradually began to take out the orcs one by one with her bow, breaking the shield wall.

 

Mirror-bright, the steel of Toren’s sword flashed in the rays of the sun and immersed the orcs in a river of light as, one by one, they fell, their heads sliced from their bodies.  And, finally, he faced the elf lord.  The barbarian hefted his axe with its razor edge, its flawless balance and its exquisite workmanship.  Olorien knew he had lost and was afraid.  Then he made a decision.  He backed slowly into the water until the whirling current seized him.  He yielded to its suction and, he too, was gone.  And then the waters were still.

 

Idris stumbled towards Toren and he caught her, fainting, in his arms.  Elrond and his retainers had been following closely behind and, leaping from his horse, he checked out Idris’ pulse as she lay against Toren’s great chest.  Then he nodded towards the water.  He had seen the last moments of the battle and said: “I am glad to be rid of him but I do wonder how he will cope, all alone in a new world.”

 

“And,” growled Toren with a dark humour, “I also wonder how he will explain the presence of a corpse with an arrow through its eye.”

 

Some of the retainers removed their cloaks and made a snug bed for Idris inside the wagon.  “Thank you,” whispered Idris as Toren gently placed her therein.  And then she kissed him and wondered at his beauty and his strength.  And, “Thank you,” she said also to Tourelle.  “The shot that killed Dave was one of great skill.”  And she squeezed the queen gratefully by the hand.

 

The two mighty warriors seized their horses by their manes and then, with graceful leaps, swung into the saddles.  Elrond bowed and handed to them a leather knapsack of gold. 

 

“Where now?” asked the elf lord.

 

“To the south,” rumbled Toren.

 

“And what draws you to the south?” smiled Elrond.

 

“Gold, jewels and fine red wine,” laughed the warrior queen.  And, raising their weapons in salute, they galloped away.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh,” sighed Poppy, “I’m so glad that Idris was all right in the end.  But she’ll be thrilled that she was rescued by Toren.  And Elrond will be pleased that he was included in the story too.  I expect he’s also relieved to be rid of Olorien and Dave.”_

_“Yes,” laughed her husband.  “I thought I’d do him a favour.”  Then: “What bit did you like best, Poppy?” he asked his wife curiously.  “My personal favourite was when, during the pursuit, they rest beneath the shade of a golden Mallorn tree and it reminds them of how they first met.”_

_“Yes, great flashback - so romantic – and sexy,” Poppy agreed.  “She originally found him sleeping – a dangerous and heavily armed barbarian…”_

_“…and so she tied him up to the tree!”_

_“And he was furious when he awoke…”_

_“…and swore he would kill her!”_

_“And after he had been freed by a passing caravan of travellers…..”_

_“….he pursued her for a day and a night until he also found her asleep and she woke up with his knife at her throat!”_

_“But they were so attracted to each other,” exclaimed Poppy, her eyes dancing with excitement, “that, after a struggle, they made love instead!”  She let out a great sigh.  “Oh, that was lovely!  But, my favourite chapter,” she giggled, “was chapter 10: you know, the one where Toren saves Tourelle from that orc during a skirmish when they have nearly caught up with Olorien and she shows her gratitude in the best possible way.  We ladies do so love your ‘padding’,” she said, giving her husband a hug._

_“And the elf lords and Thorin love the brutal combat scenes: the more blood and gore the better,” said Lostwithiel.  “I do try to please everyone,” he added smugly._

_“You give your readers what they want and that’s why everyone likes them,” agreed Poppy.  “Now, how about giving me what I want too,” she whispered._

_“And what might that be, my love?” asked her husband innocently._

_“Well, if you come upstairs, then I’ll tell you,” she replied.)_

.o00o.

 

“How amazing!” exclaimed Tauriel, seeing what Thorin was writing.  “It’s a story within a story within a story!  I’m looking forward to getting to that one.”

 

“Well, have you enjoyed _Toren and Tourelle Save Middle-earth_?” asked Thorin.

 

“Much to my surprise, I did, my love,” said the elf with an apologetic grimace.  “It was a lot of fun.  And it does – ahem – put one in the mood.”

 

“In the mood for what?” asked Thorin with an expectant grin.

 

“Oh, in the mood to do the washing up, of course,” she laughed as she went off to the kitchen.

 

“Come here, you tease!” he yelled, as he slammed shut the laptop and ran after her.  Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her, shrieking and giggling, into their bedroom.

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL! Well, I hope you’re not mad with me over all those expurgated chapters! (Hides behind sofa.) But, they do go on and on a bit and I thought you might get bored.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter: Thorin and the Newborn. Yes! Thranduil’s baby is finally born! And the questions are: will Thorin be there for him? Will he cope well with the situation? Will he change his mind about being a hands-on father? These are things we need to know.


	64. Thorin and the Newborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’m sure you’re all looking forward to this! Thanduil’s baby is born at last. He’s so keen to be a proper, hands-on father this time, in a way he never was with Legolas. It’s very hard to imagine him coping with the birth, let alone a new baby, but Thorin will be there to help him. What sort of mess or success will he make of it? Let’s find out, LOL!

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Newborn

 

Pt I

 

Why did Tauriel always do it when he was in the middle of things?

 

“I’m thinking about babies,” she said.

 

“No,” said Thorin, stopping mid-stroke.

 

“But…” said Tauriel.

 

“Read my lips,” said Thorin.  “No.”

 

“But….” said Tauriel.

 

He froze.  “You _have_ been taking your fennel draught, haven’t you?” he asked anxiously.

 

“Yes, you’ve seen me,” she began to say impatiently.  “But….”

 

“And you haven’t done anything sneaky, like water it down or somesuch?”

 

“Thorin!” she snapped indignantly.  And she pushed him off her.

 

“See,” he grumbled darkly.  “Babies ruin everything.”

 

“What babies?” she asked exasperatedly.

 

“The babies you want,” he muttered.

 

Tauriel propped herself up on one elbow and glared down at him.  “Thorin, talk sense!” she demanded.  “The only baby I’m referring to is the one that Idris is about to have.”

 

“Oh, well,” Thorin said in relief, “that’s all right then.”  And he tried to climb back on top of her.

 

But she held him off with her hand.  “We need to talk about Idris’ baby,” she said firmly.  And Thorin plonked himself back on his pillow in disappointment and resignation.

 

“Go ahead,” he sighed.

 

“She’ll be giving birth any day now,” his wife continued, “and I think you need to visit Thranduil and offer your support.”

 

Thorin snorted.  “I would think it’s Idris who needs support and not Thranduil,” he said.  “After all, it’s her who’s actually having the baby.”

 

Tauriel laughed.  “Oh, she’ll be fine.  It’s Thranduil who’ll be throwing a wobbler.  In fact,” she added thoughtfully, “I don’t want you to let your best friend down and so, just to be on the safe side, I think I’d better write a story about it.”

 

“Best friend!” spluttered Thorin.  And then he made a dive for the hem of her disappearing nightgown as she slid out of bed.

 

“Yes, best friend,” she retorted.  And she snatched the hem free from his grasp and sailed off into the dining room.

 

Thorin sighed and closed his eyes.  What kind of scrape was his wife getting him into now?

 

Tauriel, meanwhile, had opened the laptop and was typing:

 

Thorin and the Newborn

 

Idris was feeling restless.  Spring was coming, the season of Ethuil, and she was sure that her baby would be born soon.  After that nasty incident with Dave and Olorien, she had worried for a few days that the baby would be born early but, fortunately, that hadn’t happened.  However, now, she just couldn’t keep still.

 

“That’s a sign,” Elrond had smiled.  “Time to get organised, I think.”  He had helped a lot of elves give birth and Idris wanted to make sure that he would be there for her too.  And so, she was staying on at Elrond’s palace.  Thranduil had wanted her to move into a set of apartments at his palace some weeks ago, but she couldn’t be sure of Elrond’s presence there.  And so she had told the elven king she would send for him when she was nearer her time so that he could be present at the birth.  She wasn’t too keen about having him there but Thranduil was insisting.  “I wasn’t there for my son,” he said. “And I’m determined to be there for this new child – right from the very beginning.”

 

Thorin was told all this when Thranduil visited him a day later.  “Are you sure you want to be there?” asked the dwarf with a grin.  “It’s a very messy business.”

 

“Messy?” said Thranduil in surprise.  “Everyone keeps telling me what a beautiful experience it is.”

 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly beautiful from where I was standing,” continued Thorin.  “I was there when Arion was born in Rivendell and Lostwithiel helped Tauriel when Poppy was born up at the outpost.  And all that either of us remembers is the blood and the yelling.  Lostwithiel had a hard time coping, I believe, especially when his shirt was borrowed to mop up the mess.”

 

Thranduil blinked rapidly for a few moments as he thought about the maltreatment of Lostwithiel’s shirt.  But, then he shrugged and reassured himself.  “That ‘Thiel has always been a bit of an idiot,” he said dismissively.  “And I say that as one who is very fond of him.”

 

“Well,” it’s your choice,” Thorin grinned.  “But don’t complain afterwards that I didn’t warn you.”

 

“Thorin was only saying the other day,” put in Tauriel casually, as she set out the table for tea, “that he’d love to be there as your supporter.”

 

Her husband gave her a glowering look, then said: “But, of course, you might want to be private – just you and Idris and the baby, you know.”  And he looked hopefully at the elven king.

 

“No,” said Thranduil, shattering his optimistic thoughts, “it’s not as though Idris and I are married or close any more.  I think I’d like you to be there so that I can benefit from your expertise.”

 

Thorin looked glum.  “Well, if you really think I can be useful,” he muttered.

 

“He’s good at so many things, Thranduil,” said Tauriel chirpily, “like changing filthy nappies and nursing crying babies all through the night.  I expect that Idris will want you two to take over after the baby is born so that she can recover.”

 

Thranduil, who was beginning to privately worry that he wasn’t really up to the task, gave Thorin a grateful look.  “You’re a real friend, Thorin,” he said.

 

“There,” said Tauriel smugly.  “I was only saying yesterday what good friends you two are.”  And she went laughing into the kitchen to fetch a pot of tea.

 

It was at this point that there was a loud knock and they found an elven messenger on their doorstep.  He had come from Elrond’s court via Thranduil’s palace and, not having found him in residence, had pursued him to Thorin’s home.  “He’s always there,” Legolas had said.  “I’m sure that’s where you’ll find him.”

 

The messenger bore a letter from Elrond:  “ _Come as quickly as you can,_ ” it said _.  I am expecting Idris to give birth within a matter of days.”_

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Thranduil leaped up from reading the letter and ran to the far end of the room, his hands flapping.  And then he turned around and ran back again.  And then he ran out the door with Thorin following close behind.  The dwarf caught him just as he was scrambling onto his horse and he pulled him back down to the ground.  “Let me go, Thorin,” he panted.  “I must go at once.”

 

“No you mustn’t,” said Thorin calmly, seizing him firmly by the shoulders.  “Read the letter.  Elrond says that she won’t give birth for a couple of days yet.”

 

“But, I mustn’t miss it,” he gasped, struggling to be free of the dwarf’s strong grip.  “What if Elrond’s wrong?”

 

“Well, even if she’s started already, the whole process will take hours.  Plenty of time yet.”  And he made the elf lord return to the house where he sat him down quietly and Tauriel forced him to drink a cup of tea whilst Thorin packed himself a bag.  Only then would the dwarf allow him to set out and then he insisted that they keep to a trot at the most rather than a gallop.

 

At last, they reached Thranduil’s palace where he stopped briefly to direct the servants to prepare rooms both for the child and its mother.  And then they continued onwards to Elrond’s court.  When they arrived travel-stained and dishevelled, Idris came into the courtyard to meet them.  “What on earth are you doing here, Thranduil?” she asked sharply.  “And you, Thorin?  Nothing’s happening yet.”

 

“Told you so,” said Thorin smugly.

 

“Elrond sent me a letter,” replied Thranduil, already feeling a bit _de trop_.  But, as he framed a few more excuses for his presence, Idris suddenly placed a hand on her belly and muttered, “Ouch!” in a quiet voice. 

 

Thranduil was immediately at her side and she looked up gratefully at him.  “Thorin,” she said, trying her best to sound calm and in control.  “Could you please find Elrond and tell him that I’m setting out for the birthing room?”

 

.o00o.

 

The birthing room was a lovely place, painted in quiet colours and kitted out to the highest standard, containing every single piece of equipment one could possibly need when giving birth.  Thorin arrived there with Elrond in tow and found Idris already in her nightgown, lying in the high white bed.  Her eyes were closed but a sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

 

Thranduil was standing with his back against the wall facing the foot of the bed, his arms folded in an effort to look stately-yet-interested at the same time. 

 

“I wouldn’t stand there if I were you,” laughed Thorin.

 

“Why ever not?” asked Thranduil in his best aloof manner.  “I thought I’d be out of the way here but would have a good view.”

 

“Too good, I reckon,” said Thorin.  And Elrond’s lips twitched.

 

Thranduil chose to ignore him and stood even more stiffly.

 

Elrond spoke to Idris in a kindly manner, checking her pulse and then handing a bowl of cold water to Thorin so that he could bathe her temples if necessary.

 

“I can do that,” said Thranduil.

 

“Not from over there you can’t,” grinned Thorin.  At his sarcastic tones, the elf lord sniffed and stubbornly maintained his position.  But, Elrond then drew back the sheet, gently pushed up Idris’ nightgown and examined the progress that she was making.  At this, Thranduil wavered.

 

“Perhaps this isn’t such a good position after all,” he muttered and then he sidled around to the side of the bed so that he was standing opposite Thorin.

 

“So, weren’t you there when Legolas was born?” asked Thorin curiously.

 

“No,” sighed Thranduil.  “My wife was away on one of her endless trips to her relatives when it all happened and so I didn’t exactly get the opportunity.  She didn’t come back until he was a month old.”

 

Between grunts, Idris patted him on the arm.  “That must have been very hard for you,” she said.

 

“It was hard for all of us, I suppose,” he continued.  “She just presented me with this screaming bundle and said it was mine.  But, he could have been anyone’s, really.  I didn’t exactly bond with him, you know, and I’ve always regretted that.”

 

Idris let out a long groan of pain; Thorin placed a wet flannel on her forehead and Thranduil stroked her hand in a distracted manner.  In the next hiatus, she asked: “Is that why this birth is so important to you?”

 

“Yes,” he replied.  “This time I want to do it right.”

 

And so the evening and half the night passed with Idris groaning and yelling, Thorin splashing around a lot of cold water and Thranduil fruitlessly patting her hand until she finally snapped at him: “That’s very irritating, you know!”

 

Eventually, Elrond called the elven king down to the bottom of the bed: “Now’s the time to take up position here,” he smiled.  “It’s all about to happen.”

 

Idris held onto Thorin’s hand so tightly that he thought she was about to break his wrist; then she let out a great scream whilst Thranduil goggled and turned very pale.  “It’s a beautiful little girl!” cried Elrond and held the baby towards its mother.

 

“Look, Thranduil!” Idris gasped through her tears, finally letting go of Thorin and holding out her arms towards the child.  “Thranduil?!”

 

But the king had passed out cold on the floor.

 

“Well,” said Elrond, calmly washing his hands, “you didn’t do a very good job of supporting him, did you, Thorin?”

 

And Thorin rolled up his eyes.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thranduil came to on the floor with Thorin slapping the wet flannel in his face.

 

“What……what?” he stuttered.

 

“It’s a girl,” said Thorin, helping the king sit up and propping him against the wall.

 

“A  girl?” Thranduil asked in confusion. 

 

“Yes, a girl,” laughed Thorin.  “It was a fifty-fifty possibility, you know.”

 

“I….I….just hadn’t thought,” continued the elf.  But he was warming to the idea.  “Is she pretty?”

 

Thorin fetched the bundle from Idris’ reluctant arms and sat down on the floor next to the elf.  “Absolutely beautiful, I would say,” he said.  “As far as babies go, that is.”  They always looked very wrinkled and screwed up to him.  Then he placed the baby in Thranduil’s awkward grasp whilst the elven king stared in wonder at the little face poking out from the folds of the shawl.

 

“Yes, she’s beautiful,” he murmured.  “And, look!  She takes after me – she’s got blond hair like mine!” and he stroked the sparse mop of golden hair.

 

“How remarkable!” chuckled Thorin.  “Blond hair: just like you – and Idris – and Legolas – and Glorfindel – and, oh, just like most elves I can think of.”

 

But Thranduil wasn’t listening.  He was marvelling at his daughter’s soft skin and tiny hands; and he was enjoying the sensation of the warm little body snuggling up into the crook of his arm.  When Thorin finally took her from him, he felt bereft.

 

The dwarf returned the child to her mother.  “He’s besotted,” he whispered.  And Idris smiled in delight.

 

“Me, too,” she whispered back.

 

Thranduil got up and sat by the side of the bed, gazing adoringly at his child.  “What shall we call her?” he asked.

 

“I had a girl’s name ready,” said Idris tentatively.

 

Thranduil looked apprehensive, worried that this would be their first argument over the child.

 

“I’d like to give her my grandmother’s name,” she said.  “It was Gilrin and means ‘lady crowned with stars’.  I always used to wish that I had been named after her.”

 

“That’s lovely,” breathed Thranduil.  “And when she’s older, I shall have a starry coronet made for her.”  And then he looked across at Thorin and smiled.  “Perhaps you can make one for her out of mithril.”  And Thorin smiled back and nodded.

 

Then the three of them sat there for some time with silly smiles on their faces – even Thorin, as he remembered Arion and Poppy.  And he thought sadly about how he had missed out totally on Rosie’s young life.  But, you can’t have it all, he thought.

 

Idris did a small bit of breast-feeding and Thranduil whispered to Thorin: “Doesn’t look natural to me.”

 

And Thorin tutted and muttered back: “So, what do you reckon they’re _for_ , then?”

 

And the elven king thought about it for a bit until he finally said: “Oh.”

 

Elrond had been tidying up all the while but finally came over to the bed and announced that Idris needed a good 8 hours’ sleep.  “I’ve got the father’s room ready next door,” he said.  “So, the two of you can take Gilrin from her mother and look after her in there.”

 

Idris, by now, was really looking forward to some rest and handed over Gilrin to her father quite happily.  Within seconds, she was asleep.  Thranduil stared down at the child in his arms and, suddenly feeling the weight of sole responsibility, looked up anxiously at Thorin: “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

 

“Umm, well,” replied Thorin, fidgeting a bit, “now it’s all over, I was thinking of going home.”

 

“You can’t do that!” gasped Thranduil, totally appalled at the thought of his ‘best friend’ leaving him to it.  “I _need_ you!”

 

“Oh, all right,” said the dwarf reluctantly.  “Just for another day, then.”

 

.o00o.

 

Their time spent in the father’s room started well.  Gilrin was fast asleep in her father’s arms and, as Thranduil gazed down at her, he wondered how he had made such hard work of being a father to Legolas.  This was a piece of cake!

 

Then after an hour of rocking her, singing quietly and telling Thorin that he wasn’t at all surprised that he had managed to produce such a perfect child, Gilrin woke up and vomited on his shoulder.  It was only the tiniest amount but Thranduil was wearing one of his favourite gowns and he gasped in surprise and disgust.  The baby wasn’t particularly happy either and began to cry in a very disturbing, high, piercing voice.

 

Thranduil suddenly felt as though he had lost control and, holding the child stiffly away from his body, looked at Thorin and said helplessly: “What shall I do?”

 

Thorin sighed.  He thought he had seen the last of moments like this.  “Pass her over,” he said, “and get yourself cleaned up.”

 

Thranduil hastily unloaded Gilrin into Thorin’s arms and this time it was the dwarf’s turn to walk up and down the room with her, singing one of his deep, dwarven songs.  His own babies had enjoyed the thrumming vibrations coming through his chest and Gilrin was no exception.  Soon, she had closed her eyes once more and both men heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“If we’ve got to look after her for 8 hours, then we need a plan of action,” said the dwarf.  “We must both get some sleep so I suggest that we each pass the time in two hour shifts.  She won’t be hungry yet and, with any luck, she’ll sleep through until Idris is ready to take over.”

 

“Well, what about putting her in her cot?” suggested Thranduil, gesturing to a pretty crib in the corner of the room.  “If we put her down in that, then we can both get some sleep.”  And he nodded towards the beds.

 

“We can try,” said Thorin, “but I bet you anything you like that once her face touches that cold pillow, she’ll wake up.  Cuddling her might be the only way to keep her quiet.”

 

Thorin’s prediction proved true and the only way that either of them could get any peace was by doing shifts when the person ‘on watch’ had to walk up and down with her and sing quietly.  Thranduil was also introduced to the idea of the dirty nappy for the first time – “my wife or the servants always handled this when Legolas was a baby” – and it was another nose-wrinkling moment for him.

 

Thorin sighed, as the king refused to soil his hands with it.  “This is merely the faintest smear,” he said.  “Just you wait until she starts eating solids.”  Thranduil shuddered at the thought.

 

“And, if you refuse to have a go at changing this one, I shall walk out right now and leave you to it,” he threatened.  The fear of being abandoned worked and the 8 hours passed as smoothly as could be expected.

 

Bleary-eyed, Thranduil returned his daughter to her mother after their tour of duty.  She felt much better for her rest and was ready to tackle her maternal role.

 

“You’ll be all right now,” said Thorin to the elf lord.  “But, it’s time for me to go home to Tauriel.”

 

Thranduil’s face dropped.  “You’ll be all right,” repeated Thorin quietly, patting him on the shoulder.  “Come and visit us with the baby when you feel up to it.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

A month later, Thranduil was ready to visit the Oakenshields.  He arrived in a carriage and not on horseback because he had the baby with him and all the accompanying clutter necessary whenever a baby travels from home.

 

He swept into the house with Gilrin fast asleep and strapped to his chest, looking the very picture of efficient fatherhood.

 

“All under control, then?” grinned Thorin.

 

“Of course,” said Thranduil.  “What did you expect?”   And he tossed back his golden hair which was looking surprisingly clean and tidy for a parent in his first month of caring for a child.

 

Tauriel peeked at the baby as she snuggled against her father’s chest.  “Oh, she’s utterly beautiful!” she exclaimed.  And she wasn’t exaggerating.

 

“She must take after her father,” grinned Thorin with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

 

“But, of course,” said Thranduil smugly.  “Who else?”

 

“Well, I did think that Idris might have something to do with it,” the dwarf retorted.

 

And the elf lord looked genuinely puzzled for a few moments.  “Oh, yes, Idris,” he finally said.

 

“And is she good?” cooed Tauriel, stroking the golden hair.  “And are you getting enough sleep?”

 

“She’s marvellous,” Thranduil said proudly.  “Doesn’t keep me awake at all.”

 

“Well, you certainly look very fit and rested,” muttered Thorin, remembering his own early, exhausting months with his children.  “She must be exceptional.”

 

“Exceptional because she’s mine,” smirked the elven king.  “I’ve just got the touch, you know.  You must come to me if you or your family want any tips.”  And he waved a hand airily.

 

Then he sat down with Gilrin in his arms whilst Tauriel got out the tea and cakes.

 

And how’s Idris?” Tauriel asked.  “What’s the set-up now that she’s moved into your palace?”

 

“Well,” Thranduil informed them, “she’s got her own apartments just down the corridor from mine.  And so, it’s really easy for both of us to share the parenting, just as though we were actually married.”

 

“But, no sex,” grinned Thorin.

 

“I’m working on it,” muttered the king.  “I still think that a marriage between us is a good idea.  It could be quite convenient.”

 

The dwarf let out a splutter of laughter.  “Oh, yes,” he said.  “Very convenient for whenever you feel like a good ……”

 

“Thorin!” snapped Tauriel.

 

“You can talk, Thorin,” scowled Thranduil.  “It’s easy to pass judgement when you’ve had it on tap for years.”

 

“Boys!” said Tauriel firmly, standing up and holding out her hands.  “Best friends, remember!”  And she gave them both a kiss on the cheek.  And after another large slice of chocolate cake, they both felt in a better mood.  

 

For the first hour, Gilrin was as good as gold and Thorin and Tauriel were really impressed with Thranduil’s parenting skills.  But, it’s easy to look like the perfect father whilst the baby is asleep, thought Thorin to himself.  And so, the most impressive moment came when Gilrin woke up and began to grizzle and then began to cry quite loudly.  Thorin expected the elf to panic.  Instead he stood up quite calmly and rocked her for a few moments.

 

“Does she need a change?” asked Tauriel anxiously.  “Or is she hungry?  Have you got supplies in your carriage?”

 

Thranduil looked confident in the face of the increased screaming.  “Yes,” he said.  “Don’t worry.  I’ve got everything I need in the carriage.  We’ll be off now and she’ll have her feed on the way home.”

 

My, how serene and composed he was, thought the dwarf, as the decibels rose still further.  And he remembered how panic-stricken he used to be when either of the babies woke up and it was his responsibility to settle them.  And his opinion of Thranduil went up quite a few notches.

 

“Will you be all right?” asked Tauriel, her face full of concern.

 

“Of course I shall be,” said Thranduil.  And he gave her a kiss on the lips which Thorin felt he couldn’t object to since he was doing such sterling work with Gilrin.  And so he gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and walked with him to the carriage.

 

“Rather you than me,” grimaced Thorin, nodding at the by now screaming and red-faced baby.  “How will you settle her?”

 

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Thranduil.  “Maeve!” he called and a pleasant looking elf woman came to the door of the carriage and Thranduil passed over the baby to her.  “My wet-nurse,” he added.  And, with a wave of his hand, he sat in the opposite seat to the nurse and the baby and the carriage pulled away.

 

Tauriel and Thorin stood with their mouths open.

 

“That’s cheating!” muttered Thorin.  “He has a wet-nurse.  No wonder he isn’t disturbed at night and looks as fresh as a daisy.”

 

Tauriel burst out laughing.  “He does it every time!” she giggled.  “And every time he takes us in.”

 

.o00o.

 

_(Tauriel closed the laptop._

_“I bet he hardly has to look after her for more than an hour each day!”  The dwarf was still indignant._

_“But, just think, my love,” said Tauriel gently, “what he’s missing out on.”_

_“I’m thinking,” growled Thorin, remembering the exhaustion and the sleepless nights._

_She stood up and gently slipped her arms around her husband’s waist.  “We did it our way, Thorin,” she whispered tenderly.  “And it worked for us.  Let Thranduil do it his way.  And I just hope he has a better relationship with Gilrin than he has with Legolas.  Now, let’s just go to bed and think about babies.”_

_“Not too hard,” said Thorin, as he scooped her up and carried her to their room.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL! Well, couldn’t you just slap that Thranduil?! But, as usual, he does indeed seem to have it all under control, much to Thorin’s annoyance.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter: Thorin and the Personal Column. Poor Thranduil: still all alone and with no-one to take to his bed. Even the mother of his baby doesn’t want him because of his peculiar sexual tastes. But, Thorin comes to the rescue of his best friend once more: if a suitable candidate doesn’t accidentally drop into your lap, then you must make a bigger effort to find her. How about advertising for love in a personal column?


	65. Thorin and the Personal Column

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Thranduil, with no-one to love him and no-one to love! Perhaps he should take my mother’s advice and go and eat worms, LOL! Or perhaps his bestest friend can come up with a suggestion?

**Poor Thranduil, with no-one to love him and no-one to love!  Perhaps he should take my mother’s advice and go and eat worms, LOL!  Or perhaps his bestest friend can come up with a suggestion?**

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Personal Column

 

Pt I

 

Thorin was lying on his back in bed, his arms clasped behind his head, gazing at the ceiling.  Tauriel was trying to surreptitiously slide his nightshirt up his leg.  “Come on, my love,” she said.  “Stop all that thinking.”

 

Thorin absentmindedly pushed down the hem of the garment.  “I’m worried about Thranduil,” he said.

 

Tauriel let out a spurt of laughter and flopped back upon her pillow.  “He really has become your best friend, hasn’t he?” she exclaimed.  “Gone are the days when it was me who used to worry about him and you who used to object.”

 

“And do you object to me showing concern?” he asked, turning to look at her.

 

“Well, yes,” she said raising herself on her elbow and frowning down at him.  “I object when it interferes with our love-life.”

 

“At least we have a love-life,” snorted Thorin, “which is more than can be said about Thranduil.  And that’s what I’m worrying about.  He’s gone thousands of years without a significant other in his life – even the woman he married turned out not to be the One – and neither was Idris.  If only he could find the right person, then perhaps he would be a lot nicer.  You know, Tauriel, I sometimes see a different side of him and then I really like him.”

 

“You don’t have to convince me about his nicer side,” said the elf.  “I’ve spent years trying to persuade _you_ that there was one.  Why the sudden change of attitude?!”

 

The dwarf pulled a face.  “It’s not a sudden change.  It’s been creeping up on me.  We’ve spent some, you know, private moments together, like on that mancation and when we were building the sweat lodge or when Gilrin was born .  And, even when he abducted you and I came to your rescue, he looked so pathetic and sad that I couldn’t bring myself to punch him on the nose.”

 

“It was a shame about Idris,” Tauriel sighed.  “But I had a feeling the moment I saw them together that they weren’t suited.”

 

“And it will prove a hard task, trying to find someone who’s suitable for Thranduil…..with all his…..interests.  I expect that’s why he’s still on his own.  I’ve been trying to find a solution.”

 

“And after you’ve worked out a solution, then do you plan to write about it on the laptop?”

 

Thorin stared at a fixed point on the ceiling for a moment and then jumped out of bed.  “Got it!” he said.

 

Tauriel stumbled out of bed muttering to herself:  “Why is it always the middle of the night?”  And she pulled on her robe and followed her husband out to the dining-room where he was already opening the laptop.  “And I suppose you expect me to get you a cup of tea?” she said.

 

“That’ll be nice,” replied Thorin rather abstractedly.  And he typed the title:

 

Thorin and the Personal Column

 

_(“Hmm,” said Tauriel, reading over his shoulder, “sounds like something out of_ TheValinor Times _.”_

_“You’d be right,” laughed Thorin.  “I’m basing this on my newspaper experience back on Middle-earth when I was an Agony Aunt for_ The Grey Havens Free Press _._

_Then he typed on.)_

Thranduil idly sipped a glass of wine as he sat up to Thorin’s dining-room table.  He had become bored and restless after Idris and Maeve, the wet-nurse, had taken his daughter off to visit Elrond for a few weeks.  Having wandered aimlessly about his empty apartments for an hour or so, he had finally mounted his horse and set off to visit Thorin.

 

“You don’t know how lucky you are, Thorin,” he sighed, “surrounded as you are by a large extended family and married to a wonderful elven woman like Tauriel.”

 

“Well,” said Thorin mildly, “you’re surrounded by your son, his partner, your baby daughter, the baby’s mother and the wet-nurse – plus a huge gaggle of courtiers.  You’re not exactly completely on your own.”

 

“But, I’ll tell you one thing you’ve got that I haven’t got,” Thranduil continued grumpily.

 

“Which is?” grinned the dwarf, although he had already guessed.

 

“A beautiful wife in my bed.”

 

“Well,” said Thorin, “you coped with chastity for hundreds of years before, after – and even during – your marriage.  What’s so different now?”

 

“I’ll tell you what’s different,” snapped the elven king, getting up and pacing the room, “I’ve had a brief fling with Idris and that reminded me of just what I’m missing.  And,” he added, pointing an accusing finger at Thorin, “for seventy years I’ve had you flaunting your love-life right under my nose, reminding me that you get to be intimate with the only woman I’ve ever truly wanted.”

 

“I do not flaunt it,” replied Thorin indignantly.

 

“You do so,” said Thranduil sharply.  “There are chapters about it in Frodo’s book and you gave a whole day’s worth of lectures on the subject at that book signing.  And, by the time we left Middle-earth, just about everyone was making jokes about your active sex life and you answered questions on it in that newspaper.  Then, to top it all, your son-in-law writes a whole series of salacious novellas with you and Tauriel thinly disguised as the two protagonists.  And, if that’s not flaunting then I don’t know what is.”

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” sighed Thorin.  “Stop envying the lives of others and get out there and do something about your own.”

 

“Like what?” grunted the king, flopping back down onto a chair and tossing off the rest of his wine.

 

“Well, you could try several things.”  And Thranduil pulled out a piece of paper and a quill from the writing slope and sat with pen poised.  “First, how about writing a letter to the problem page of _The Valinor Times_ explaining your quandary and asking for advice?”

 

Thranduil sucked the end of the quill and jotted **:** _Write a letter to the problem page_.

 

“And who,” he asked, looking up, “runs the problem page?”

 

Thorin blinked and said: “Well, I do, of course.  I’m the only one for miles around who has experience of this sort of thing.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, screwed up the paper and flung it on the floor.  “So, why don’t I just ask you to your face?”

 

“Because,” Thorin explained slowly and carefully, as if to a child, “when you write a letter, half of Valinor - which has nothing better to do with its time - always writes back with suggestions.”

 

“Oh, no,” said the elf, shaking his head, “I have no intention of letting all and sundry in on my private business.  Can you imagine?  _Dear Aunty Thorin, I am a king who has already made a mess of two relationships.  I have a son who is only interested in his boyfriend and a daughter who is a love-child.  At the moment, I am seriously sex-starved but cannot find a suitable partner because I am into bondage.  What do you suggest?_ Any fool will know straight away that it’s me.  That’ll give everyone for miles around a good laugh for at least a fortnight.”

 

“Alright,” said Thorin, holding up a hand.  “Scratch that.  But I still think that using the newspaper in some way is a good idea.”  He thought hard for a moment.  Then:  “How about if we advertise for a partner for you?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“ _Advertise_ for a partner!”  Thranduil sneered.  “You mean, as if I were after a new horse?  That’d get a good response, I should think.”  And he poured himself another glass of wine in disgust.

 

“No, no!  Listen a moment,” continued Thorin hastily.  “You use a pseudonym, of course.  And then you briefly list all your characteristics and interests.  And then you explain the type of person you’re looking for.  You give a box number and then wait for the replies to flood in.”

 

Thranduil looked slightly more convinced.  “And then I can select from amongst the most likely candidates, meet up with them and see if anything takes off between us?”

 

“Correct,” said Thorin.

 

The elven king slowly selected another sheet of paper and, after much thought, wrote a couple of paragraphs.  “Here, what do you think?” he asked, thrusting it across the table.

 

_Looking for a suitor?  Rich, good-looking, elegant elf in a position of some authority, seeks tall, slim, beautiful elven maid. Intentions: honourable._

_GSOH, sexually experienced (widower), wide interests, including banqueting, clothes, country pursuits, theatre, books, sub/dom.  Requires partner with similar interests._

Thorin nodded.  “Yes, that’s the sort of thing.”  Then he grinned.  “But I’m not so happy with your self-description.  Like ‘books’.  When do you ever read?”

 

“Well, I have just ploughed my way through all of Lostwithiel’s novels.”

 

“And you call that ‘reading’?” the dwarf laughed.

 

“Well, what else is it?” grumbled the king.

 

“And what about ‘theatre’?” was Thorin’s next question.

 

Thranduil looked indignant.  “I’ll have you know that I always come to see the plays that you perform in!  Always good for a bit of a laugh.”

 

“And there was me thinking,” grinned Thorin, “that you were there to offer your support.  And what do you mean by ‘country pursuits’?  Riding, hunting, farming?  You need to be a bit clearer.”

 

“Oh, all those,” said Thranduil, waving a hand airily.  “But I also like to do – you know – out there under the trees in a secluded spot.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes.  “Just remind me never to drift off the path if I’m ever travelling through your area in case I trip over something in the bushes.”  Then he furrowed his brow.  “You’ve managed to hide away the most important bit right at the end,” he said.  “You know, the sub-dom part.  Oughtn’t you to make it clear that you like being the dom and she’s expected to be the sub.”

 

“Oh, no!” protested Thranduil.  “I thought you realised: I don’t mind either way.  It always depends on my partner.  Idris was naturally submissive.  But, if I were to meet someone like Tauriel, who has always put me in my place…….Well, she could chain me up any time.  In fact, it would be quite nice for a change.”

 

Thorin shook his head.  “It would be so much easier,” he sighed, “if you could just be _normal_.  It would give you a much wider choice of partner.”

“What?  You mean, normal and boring like you?”

 

Thorin gave up and they worked on the elf’s advert for some time.  Then he leaned back in his chair and thought.  “I must admit that, if only one advert goes into the paper, then it might make it obvious that it’s you again.  So, I was wondering if a whole new page could be created – called _SoulMates_ , or something.  And, if there are a load of people advertising for a partner then yours won’t stick out like a sore thumb.”

 

Thranduil blinked.  “So, do you know a lot of other elves in The Undying Lands who are lonely and searching for a partner?”

 

“Possibly,” said Thorin slowly.  “Only a few of Tauriel’s old troop have ever got married - and two of those have joined my family.  So, we’ve got nearly a dozen handsome, strapping chaps still living down in the harbour area who might be up for it.  I shall go and have a chat with them tomorrow.  And there are people like Ellandel, of course, and the elves who used to live in the tree houses just below here, and members of the drama group – both sexes.  Oh, lots of other single people when I come to think of it.  I shall try to visit some of them and collect names of interested parties.”

 

“Were you a marriage broker in another life?” asked Thranduil.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

The first thing that Thorin did the next day was to visit the Editor of _The Valinor Times_ in his offices overlooking the harbour.  The dwarf had played such a big part in the life of the Undying Lands for such a long time and had given the newspaper so much material for their articles and had done such a thoughtful job on the Agony Aunt page that he had no trouble at all persuading Elrohir, the Editor, that _SoulMates_ was a good idea.

 

“Anything for you, Thorin,” said Elrohir.  “And, even without the favour, it’s a really good idea.”

 

And Thorin went away whistling to visit various ex members of Tauriel’s old troop.  At least six of these were very taken with the thought that they might meet their One through a newspaper advert and so Thorin sat down with them and helped them construct attractive descriptions of themselves.

 

“No, no, no,” he tutted at Rostrel, scrawling a line through yet another attempt.  “Just look at it.  What will tempt some lovely elf lady to answer yours rather than someone else’s?”

 

_Tall, blond, good-looking, likes horses.  Looking for someone who is tall, blond, good-looking and likes horses too.”_

Thorin screwed it up and threw it in the bin.  “Let’s try again,” he sighed.  “Just about everyone is tall, blond and good-looking so how can we make that snappier?”

 

In the end, a group effort produced:

 

_Let’s go riding through life together in search of a happy ever after.  Fighting fit elf lord WLTM his one and only for love and romance.  GSOH._

 

And one for Durandan finished up as :

 

_Hear my Song!  Elf lord with a beautiful voice and a golden harp WLTM…..you!  But has he got the pluck?  Give me a chance and perhaps we can make beautiful music together.  GSOH._

 

Apparently, they all had a good sense of humour, although Thorin had never noticed.  Still, that should appeal to the ladies and so he left it in.

 

He did pop over to the Moot Hall to have a chat with Ellandan, but the administrator, after thanking him politely, said that he was too busy and too set in his ways to think about marriage.  But, he did have more luck with the group of young elves whom he had known since they were children because a couple of the girls were interested there.  Life was so boring in Valinor that they were willing to give Thorin’s idea a try, whether they found someone or not.

 

At the end of the day, he visited Elrohir with a satisfying bundle of applications for the new _SoulMates_ page.  He had tucked Thranduil’s effort into the middle of them all and decided that no-one giving them a cursory glance would be able to work out who all these lonely hearts were.  Then he went home to Tauriel and waited impatiently for the newspaper to come out at the end of the week.

 

.o00o.

 

The day after _The Valinor Times_ was published – “For goodness’ sake, Thranduil, at least give them a day to answer!” – the elves who had participated in the scheme were down to check out their boxes at the postal centre.  Most of them pulled out a bundle of replies and ran off gleefully to read them in private but Thranduil discovered only one in his box and sat down gloomily on a nearby bench.

 

“Well, one is better than none,” said Thorin, trying to cheer him up.  “That might be _the_ One.”

 

“Not if it’s from Naenoniel, it’s not,” he responded, spreading out the reply on his knee.

 

“Who’s Naenoniel?” asked Thorin, puzzled.

 

“She’s a Silvan elf, for a start, and, no offence meant to Tauriel, but a Silvan elf is bottom of my list.  And this one is the wettest, weakest, most boringly pathetic little thing that I’ve ever met.”

 

“But doesn’t that mean that she’d make a good submissive?” laughed Thorin.

 

“Perhaps for some people,” said Thranduil shrugging his shoulders, “but I like mine with at least a bit of fight in them.”

 

“Sounds as if you’re taming a difficult horse.”

 

“That just about sums it up,” was the response.

 

“No wonder you can’t find a partner,” was all the dwarf could mutter.  But then he put an arm consolingly around the elf’s shoulders.  “Up the hill with you,” he said.  “Tauriel’s baking a chocolate cake and I reckon you could do with a slice.  Tell her I sent you and I shall follow in a bit.  I just need a brief chat with Elrohir to see if he wants to continue with the _SoulMates_ page.”

 

Thranduil rode off so despondently that Thorin’s heart went out to him.  But, he would sort things out for him in the end, he was sure, and he crossed the courtyard towards Elrohir’s office.  In the centre of the courtyard was a large and beautiful tree.  Around its base was a pretty bench and, seated on the bench was another despondent-looking elf.  “Nennia?” said Thorin, pausing for a moment.

 

The pretty elf looked up with a mournful sigh which rather startled Thorin because, of all the elves he had taught when he had been a temporary teacher at the local school, she had been the most confident and the most up-beat, always wanting to help and the one who had managed to arrange a rescue when he had got into serious trouble.  She had left school now and was living with Ellandel, a distant relative.  She was very mature for her years, Thorin had always thought: efficient, intelligent and generous with her time.

 

He had been surprised when, whilst he had been visiting Ellandel a week earlier to ask if he wanted to place an entry on the _SoulMates_ page, Nennia had looked up and asked to participate.

 

“For a bit of a laugh?” he had asked.  “I wouldn’t think you’re ready for marriage yet.  All those elf lords are years older than you.”

 

“Oh, she’s ready all right,” laughed Ellandel.  “She runs my house like clockwork and has got me totally organised.  I think she’s more grown up than me sometimes and she’s desperate to move on to the next phase.”

 

“The next phase?” asked Thorin.

 

“Marriage and a family,” said Nennia.  “I’m bored to tears and that would really give me something to get my teeth into.”  And she grinned widely, showing a perfect set of small, white teeth.

 

Five minutes later, she had produced her _SoulMates_ entry and Thorin had gone back home with hers shoved away with the selection he had collected so far but still wondering if it was a good idea to include Nennia.

 

He had discussed her later that night with Tauriel as they lay in bed.  “She’s very young, you know: only a couple of hundred years.  Do you think she knows what she’s doing?”

 

“Well,” Tauriel had mused, “she reminds me a bit of Poppy.  And _she_ got married when she was little more than a child.  But she always seemed ready for it and had Lostwithiel wrapped around her little finger from the off.  On top of that, everyone tells us that she was a marvellous mother to our Rosie.  And so, age needn’t necessarily come into it.”

 

“But,” said Thorin worriedly, “do you think she’s ready for – you know?  Any housekeeper can run a house and manage a child but they don’t have to get into bed with someone to do that.  And then she’ll be stuck with that person for all eternity.”

 

“You mean, like I am with you?” the elf laughed.  And then she had demonstrated just how glad she was to be stuck with him for all eternity and Thorin had forgotten all about Nennia – until now.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

He sat down next to her on the bench under the tree.  “Why so downcast, young lady?” he asked.  “Didn’t you get many replies either?”

 

“I didn’t get _any,_ ” she said miserably.  “What’s wrong with me?”

 

“Absolutely nothing!” exclaimed the dwarf with conviction.  “Any elf lord would be proud to have you as his partner.  But, let’s have a look at your application, shall we?”  And he unrolled his copy of _The Times_ and checked out the page.

 

She had written _: Capable elf maid in search of suitable partner.  Here’s someone who would bring order into your life.  In a mess?  Then I’m the one._  

 

Thorin blinked.  Somehow, this one had slipped through the net.  “Umm, I think we should rewrite this and try again next week,” he suggested.

 

“Why?  What’s wrong with it?” she snapped.

 

“Well,” he replied, “you don’t sing your own praises about how good-looking you are, like everyone else.  And it’s all a bit serious – no mention of a GSOH, for instance.  And you sound a bit – umm – managing.”

 

“Actually, I haven’t got a particularly good sense of humour,” she said grumpily.  “Life is a pretty tricky business – something to be managed and controlled – not something to be laughed at.  And you’re jolly lucky that I took your plight so seriously when you were locked up in prison or I might not have stood up and pleaded your cause in front of the judge, or had a dig around to see if someone was trying to manipulate you, or sent Thranduil haring off to contact Galadriel for help.”

 

And Thorin had to admit that she had behaved amazingly for such a young girl.  If it hadn’t been for her, he might be back in Middle-earth by now, separated forever from the ones that he loved.  He gave her a hug and said: “Come on, Nennia.  Let’s go and eat a slice of Tauriel’s chocolate cake up at the forge.  Thranduil’s already there and perhaps the four of us can put our heads together and see what we can do for you.”  So, with a sigh, Nennia got to her feet and, after he had exchanged a few words with Elrohir, they both plodded up the hill together.

 

.o00o.

 

“Oh, it’s you, Nennia,” said Thranduil in bored tones, looking up from where he was sitting in front of the fire-place.

 

“Don’t try too hard to show your pleasure in my company,” was the tart response.

 

“Now, children….” tutted Thorin, raising his hand.  “You two are in the same boat and I need you working together.”

 

“Don’t tell me that the great King of Mirkwood got a less than pleasing number of replies,” the elf girl muttered.

 

“Nennia,” warned Tauriel gently.  Then:  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

 

“Yes, please,” she replied.  “But, just you sit down, Tauriel, and I’ll go and fetch things.”  And she bustled into the kitchen and soon returned with the teapot, some crockery and the chocolate cake neatly sliced up on a plate.

 

“You’re so efficient,” smiled Tauriel as Nennia poured her a cup.  “It’s really nice to be waited on.”

 

Thranduil reached for a slice of cake but Nennia smacked his wrist.  “Just wait to be served,” she snapped.  “Where are your manners?”  And Thranduil sat back down in his chair looking duly chastened.

 

She made him wait until she had served both Thorin and Tauriel and then she held out a mug and a plate of cake.  “For you,” she said sweetly.  Thranduil looked from her slice to his.  “Mine’s half the size of yours,” he grumbled, “and I like chocolate cake.”

 

“So do we all,” she replied.  “That will just teach you a lesson for being so greedy.”

 

And Thranduil muttered his way through his cake, but, much to Thorin’s surprise, accepted her reprimand.

 

Then they all sat down to work on both Thranduil’s and Nennia’s efforts and Thorin and Tauriel were kept entertained by the spikey remarks that passed between the two.

 

Thorin picked up Thranduil’s description: “’Elf in a position of some authority’,” he read out.  “Can we improve on that in any way?”

 

“How about ‘elf lord with autocratic manner who likes to push people around’?” suggested Nennia coolly.

 

“And how would you like to keep out of this before I send you off to the kitchen to do the washing up?” was the sharp response from Thranduil.

 

“I rest my case,” said Nennia.

 

“And what about yours?” snapped Thranduil.  “For ‘capable elf maid’, let’s substitute ‘control freak’.  Do you really think that offering to sort out people’s lives is a romantic ploy?”

 

“Well, it’s a hundred times more romantic than offering a bit of sub-dom on a moonlit night!” sniffed Nennia.  “Honestly, Thranduil, why do you think that no-one’s forming a queue?”

 

“Well, he _is_ extremely good-looking,” offered Tauriel, trying to soothe the pair of them.

 

“And doesn’t he know it?” was the curt response.  “Front-runner for the Most Arrogant Man in Valinor contest, I would say.”

 

And Thorin would have said that too and he grinned quietly into his beard.

 

“And you’re very beautiful,” said Tauriel desperately.  “Surely any elf lord would be proud to have you on his arm?  Don’t you agree, Thranduil?”

 

“I’m not ‘any elf lord’,” was all the king would say.

 

After half an hour of arguing, Nennia finally sat back in her chair and said firmly: “I don’t think _SoulMates_ is for me, Thorin.”

 

“Nor me,” sniffed Thranduil.  “Count me out next week.”  Then, getting up from his seat, he made ready to leave.  Nennia also got up and reached for her cloak and the elven king said in politely resigned tones: “I have my horse with me.  Would you like a lift down the hill?”

 

For a moment, Thorin thought she was going to say ‘no’ but, much to his surprise, after she had opened and closed her mouth twice, she suddenly said in a strained voice: “How kind.”  And, as they waited for Thranduil to fetch his horse from the stable, she added as way of explanation: “He’s a bit of a pain but I’m really tired.”

 

Tired, eh, thought Thorin?

 

When they all went outside, Thorin held the horse’s head whilst Thranduil politely offered to lift Nennia into the saddle.

 

“Well, be careful where you put your hands,” she said brusquely and Thranduil tentatively placed his hands about her waist and gracefully lifted her into a side-saddle position before mounting the horse behind her.  “Not too close,” she ordered.  And the king edged back until a gap opened between them.

 

As they waved them off, Thorin turned to Tauriel and said: “I’d love to be a fly on that horse’s backside so that I could overhear what they say to each other.”

 

.o00o.

 

The horse ambled slowly down the hill with Thranduil placing the lightest hand on Nennia’s waist to steady her – and a very nice waist it was too.  He cleared his throat: “Lovely couple, Thorin and Tauriel,” he said, by way of an opener.

 

“Yes,” she said.  “I’m so glad we put our heads together that day to get him out of prison.”

 

“Quite a team, hey?” grinned Thranduil.

 

“Even if your horse was a bit slow,” she grinned back.  And they both relaxed a little.

 

“So, are you going to give up on the idea of finding a mate?” he asked.

 

“Probably for the moment,” she sighed.  “No-one seems to want a bossy woman.  But, I’ve got plenty of time, I suppose.”

 

“We’ve all got plenty of time in Valinor,” laughed Thranduil, “and we might need it.  Even after a few thousand years, I still haven’t managed to find someone to share my interests.”

 

“Well, who knows?” said Nennia.  “I came to that book-signing and listened to your lectures and actually found some of your ideas quite – er – stimulating.”

 

“You did?” asked Thranduil, sounding pleased.  But, just at that moment, the horse stumbled and Nennia nearly fell from the saddle.  The king automatically grabbed her and pulled her against his chest.  “Erm, sorry,” he muttered as the horse recovered its footing.

 

“Thank you,” said Nennia and Thranduil noticed that she made no effort to pull away.  And he tightened his grip around her waist.

 

The rest of the journey passed very pleasantly and they seemed to have a lot to say to each other.  Both of them had read Lostwithiel’s books and they giggled together over some of the outrageous details.  And they had both seen Thorin perform in various plays; “It’s amazing how he does all those different voices!” exclaimed Nennia.

 

“Fruits of having three children,” was Thranduil’s opinion, although I don’t seem to have picked up that skill, even with two.”  Then they chatted about Legolas and Thranduil shared his concerns over Gimli.  And then they talked about Gilrin and Nennia sympathised with him over the difficult situation he had found himself in.

 

And the journey came to an end much too quickly for both of them.  Thranduil dismounted reluctantly and helped the elf woman down from the saddle.  He stood for a moment with his hands on her hips, staring down into her delightful violet eyes.

 

“What a lovely colour your eyes are,” he said softly.

 

“Do you really think so?” she replied with a pleased smile.  She wasn’t used to compliments.

 

Thranduil cleared his throat once more feeling strangely shy as if he were a young lad again.  “Umm, can I visit you?” he asked.

 

“Come for lunch tomorrow,” she said.  “Ellandel is off visiting at Elrond’s court,” she added with a cheeky twinkle.

 

“See you tomorrow, then,” he said, making no attempt to move, but still standing there with his hands around her waist.

 

“Yes, tomorrow, then,” she answered, gazing up and smiling, those violet eyes fixed on his face.

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil.

 

“Yes,” said Nennia.

 

Then, finally, she dipped her head forward and pecked him on the cheek and Thranduil went gallantly on one knee and gently kissed her fingertips.

 

Nennia let out a burst of laughter.  “Yes, that’s how I like you: down on your knees!”  And she turned and ran giggling into the house.

 

“Yes,” thought Thranduil.  “That’s how I like me too!”

 

.o00o.

_(“Well, goodness gracious,” said Tauriel.  “I would never have put those two together!”_

_“Why not?” laughed Thorin.  “Thranduil developed a fleeting interest in her after she told him off quite smartly for arriving so late to my trial.  He said he liked women like you, Tauriel, who put him in his place.  And I told him that Nennia was too old for him!”_

_“Too old!” exclaimed Tauriel.  “Yes, I suppose she is in some ways.  But do you think that anything will come of it?”_

_“There’s a good chance, I reckon, that they’ll make an unlikely sub-dom couple.  She likes bossing him around and he likes to be bossed.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”_

_“And while we’re waiting,” she said, leaning over and closing the laptop, “I think that this unlikely couple right here should be enjoying themselves in bed.  I’m not being too bossy, am I?” she added, as she grabbed him by the plaits and dragged him to their room._

_“Boss away, my love,” whispered Thorin.  “It’s all in a good cause.”  And he shut the bedroom door tightly behind him.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Story: Thorin and the Secret. This was prompted by something that happened in the film and, since most of my stories were written in advance of The Hobbit films, I am quite pleased with how my details in a previous story tied in so nicely with a revelation in DoS.


	66. Thorin and the Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on an idea in the film with just a few adjustments. Tauriel is mad with Thranduil but he has a terrible secret which has dictated his response to certain things for centuries. Now that the elven king has found Nennia, will he be more or less willing to share his secret with her and Thorin? And will he get sympathy or rejection if he does?

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..and Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Secret

 

Pt I

 

Tauriel was sitting up in bed with her arms crossed, glowering into the darkness.

 

“Lie down, my love,” sighed Thorin, as he slid an encouraging hand up her thigh.  “Getting angry about things serves no good purpose.”

 

“Well, I can’t help it,” muttered Tauriel.  “There was I, having a really nice chat with Borondin and Tagrith down near the harbour, when up rides Thranduil.  He says hello to both me and Borondin but totally ignores Tagrith before riding on his way.  I think that Borondin was ready to punch him on the nose – and so was I.”

 

“You’ll never change him,” muttered Thorin, “so why get into such a state?  He’s obsessed with beauty and Tagrith’s scar offends him, I’m afraid.”

 

“Trust you to excuse him,” snapped Tauriel.  “I know he’s your best friend now and you’re practically a second father to his baby daughter, but, personally, I just want to give him a slap.”  And, as this thought passed through her mind, she slapped away Thorin’s wandering hand.  “Oh, just stop it, Thorin,” she exclaimed.  “I am just so fed up with you men!”  And she lay down in bed with her back towards him.

 

Thorin tried to snuggle up behind her but she shrugged him away.  In the end, Thorin lay on his back and wondered what he could do to rectify the situation.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, he got up and opened the laptop.  “What’s the story going to be about this time?!” asked Tauriel sleepily, coming into the room.

 

“I’m trying to right a wrong,” muttered Thorin, as he thought about an appropriate title.

 

“Oh, that’s nice,” said the elf vaguely and she wandered off into the kitchen to make breakfast.

 

Thorin and the Secret

 

( _typed Thorin.  Not exactly inspiring, he thought, but it’ll have to do.  Come on, laptop!  I think I’ll need some help with this one.)_

Thranduil sat in front of his mirror in his private apartments.  He had firmly locked the door and now he examined his image with the utmost care.

 

No-one would ever guess, he thought.  The face that stared back at him was extraordinarily beautiful: pale and perfect skin, magnetic blue eyes, interesting eyebrows, sensuously moulded lips and a fall of straight, silver-gilt hair that was silken and touchable.  Yes, even though he said it himself, he was absolutely gorgeous.  Why on earth Tauriel had preferred the rough beauty of a dwarven king, he would never know.  But, at least Nennia thought him the loveliest thing that walked the earth and he would be content with that.

 

Then he sank back in his chair with a sigh.  The trouble is, he thought, he wasn’t the loveliest thing that walked the earth – far from it.  He was a monster and whenever he saw someone like Tagrith – as he had done today – he was reminded of this unpalatable truth.

 

He relaxed and let go with that part of him that controlled the spell.  Yes, Olorien the Alchemist had had his problems and had now escaped to Mary Sue’s world, never to return.  But he had also had his uses.  The elf lord closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them again.  Always, he hoped that things would be different – that his problem had been miraculously cured or at least improved upon.  But, when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed.  Half of his face was still horribly burned and eaten away by the dragon fire.  He was horrific to look upon and he had nearly died during that attack by the fire-drakes of the north, hundreds of years ago.  Olorien had saved his life and had taught him the spell of holding which had restored his beauty.  Only Olorien had nursed him and only Olorien had known the extent of his injuries.  It was Thranduil’s horrible secret and not even the powers of Valinor had healed his wound.

 

And now he had found the lovely Nennia and he was terrified of losing her.  He had nightmares in which his control over the scar relaxed whilst he was asleep and he was awoken by terrified screaming to find Nennia staring at his face in horror.  In other bad dreams, he was nursing his baby daughter when the spell suddenly wore off and the baby started crying in terror too whilst Idris snatched her out of his arms saying that he would never see her again.

 

Who would tolerate him, he thought, if they knew the truth or if he lost control of the spell?  No-one would want to come near him, not even his best friend, the dwarf, he concluded with a wry grimace.  Thorin had a surprisingly high level of tolerance for most things but even he would back away from the loathsome thing that was Thranduil’s face.

 

After only a few moments, he could stand it no longer and, taking a deep breath, he exerted the power of the spell again.  His face became beautiful once more and he closed his eyes with a sigh.  He had been seeing Nennia for some time and she was visiting him today.  He would take her in his arms and try to forget the vile, deformed monstrosity that he actually was.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Nennia arrived a few hours later and Thranduil lifted her down from her horse, knelt in the dirt and kissed her hand.  The pretty elf grinned, enjoying his obeisance and the king grinned back, taking pleasure in humbling himself before her.  After a suitable period of time, she ordered him to his feet and opened her arms to him.  He kissed her tenderly and then invited her to take a walk in his gardens.

 

They drifted hand in hand between the trees until they reached a lovely, flowery bower.  Then they sat down together and gazed into each other’s eyes.  Both were confident that they had found the One.  Nennia’s autocratic and domineering personality totally suited Thranduil and he had wondered for centuries if he would ever find someone who conformed to his sexual tastes.  And now, here she was.

 

Nennia had always loved arranging people’s lives and telling them what to do; and now she had found someone who wasn’t irritated by her bossy ways but rather liked – and was even aroused by – her manner.

 

Quietly, Thranduil took off one of his beautiful silver rings and offered it to her.  She smiled and slipped it over her largest digit, her thumb; and then she took off one of her own and gave it to the elven king who placed it on his little finger.  They gazed solemnly at each other and then they laughed.  “Thank you for accepting my betrothal ring,” he said.

 

“And, thank you for accepting mine in return,” she replied.  “We shall have to get chains for these before we lose them.”

 

That night, they were intimate for the first time.  This was a new experience for Nennia but not for Thranduil and he led her through it all gently.  Nennia had been reading and re-reading Frodo’s sex manual ever since Thranduil had shown an interest in her and so felt ready for this consummation.  But, the elf lord felt a bit fraught: on the other two occasions, with his wife and his former betrothed, it had not been a complete success for him, because of his special ‘interests’.  However, when the dawn came, he began to let himself feel at least a little confident that, this time, things would work out just fine.

 

In fact, after their first hour or so together, when he was still trying to show considerable restraint, it was Nennia who giggled and wanted to know where he kept the handcuffs and it was she who chained him to the bed.  He had really enjoyed the next hour of being dominated: it was such an exhilarating change to let someone else take charge after having to march around all day being a king and forcing others to your will, and he sighed with pleasure at the thought of doing it all over again the following night.

 

But, once they had both drifted off to sleep, he had had that dreadful nightmare again where Nennia found out about his scarred face and had started screaming.  In fact, it was Thranduil who shouted out in his sleep and awoke to find Nennia cradling him in her arms, telling him that he had had a bad dream.  But, the kinder she was to him, the more afraid he became that he would lose her.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning when they woke up together and gazed smilingly into each other’s eyes, Nennia suggested that they visit Thorin and Tauriel to tell them of their betrothal.  “I’m sure they’ll be very pleased about it,” she said.  “And, perhaps a ride in the fresh air will make you sleep better tonight.”

 

Yes, he wanted Thorin to know because he had helped to bring them together with his _SoulMates_ page.  He was sure that the dwarf would be delighted at his matchmaking success.  There had been a number of betrothals already because of his idea and Thorin was proudly ticking them off on a little list.  Nennia and Thranduil had not been an obvious couple at first because they just seemed to snipe at each other but then Thorin and Tauriel began to realise that they were both getting a bit of fun out of this and that they even found it rather stimulating.

 

There was a big age gap too but this seemed to bother neither of them.  In the elven world, age differences could be quite vast and you just got used to it.  The important thing – as Thorin had discovered with his rather ‘elderly’ wife – was compatibility.  And Nennia and Thranduil seemed to be a good match.

 

And so, it wasn’t exactly a big surprise when Tauriel looked out the window that afternoon and saw Thranduil riding up the hill with Nennia seated before him on his horse.  “Look, Thorin,” she cried.  “Don’t they look lovely together?  Do you think they’re coming with a piece of good news?”

 

It was Nennia who led the way into the room whilst Thranduil followed shyly behind her.  “We’ve got something to tell you,” she said, “haven’t we, Thranduil?  Go on, tell them.”  And the elven king stepped forward obediently at her command and told them about the betrothal.

 

“I knew it!” cried Tauriel, clapping her hands.  “You seem so right for each other!”  Then there was a lot of hugging and kissing.  After that, the ladies bustled into the kitchen whilst Thorin sat with Thranduil outside on the bench for a bit of a chat.

 

“She’s a lovely girl,” said Thorin.  “You were attracted to her straight away after my trial, weren’t you?  Even I could see that.”

 

“Yes,” laughed Thranduil.  “I suppose I was.  She reminded me a bit of Tauriel – only more so.  Very managing, you know.  And I really need that sort of partner – otherwise I tend to walk all over them, just like I did Idris.”

 

They gazed out to sea for a quiet moment and then Thorin murmured: “So, everything’s all right in bed, is it?”

 

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Thranduil.  “You know it was her who asked without any prompting last night where I kept the handcuffs and, this morning, I found her rifling through all my chests and drawers, digging out my toys and asking all about them.  We can’t wait to get back home tonight for a bit of experimentation.”

 

Thorin grinned and shook his head at the thought that two such people existed in Valinor and had found each other, but he was pleased for his friend all the same.  “Well, I hope you’ll be very happy,” he said.

 

“I’m sure we will be,” exclaimed the elven king but Thorin noticed that a shadow passed over his beautiful face as he said it.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

As Nennia and Thranduil rode back to the elf king’s palace, more than gratified by the enthusiastic congratulations they had received from Thorin and Tauriel, they crossed paths with Borondin and Tagrith who were both living in a tree-house together down in the harbour area, close to other members of Tauriel’s old troop.

 

Nennia waved enthusiastically at them.  “Stop the horse!” she ordered Thranduil and the elf did so rather sullenly.  When the smiling couple approached, Nennia excitedly waggled her hand around, displaying the large silver ring on her thumb.  “Look!” she cried.  And then she grabbed Thranduil’s hand and forced him to display her ring on his little finger.  “We’re betrothed!”

 

“Congratulations,” said Borondin, and Thranduil nodded politely in response.  The elf lord had tried to say this as pleasantly as possible but he found it difficult to believe that anyone would ever be happy with the arrogant king of Mirkwood.  Just look at what happened with idris!  But, perhaps this would be a case of third time lucky.  Tagrith seemed hesitant too, and he knew why.  Every meeting they had with Thranduil was unpleasant for her because the king always did his best to ignore her.  But Borondin gave her a gentle push in the small of her back, hoping that such a happy occasion would provoke the king into being a bit nicer.

 

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Tagrith, giving Nennia a beaming smile.  And Nennia bent down from the horse and gave her hand a squeeze.  Then, Tagrith turned with shy apprehension towards Thranduil.  “Congratulations,” she said in her sweet, melodious voice.  “You have found a wonderful bride.  I hope you will be very happy together.”

 

Thranduil looked down at Tagrith and saw how the ugly scar crinkled across her face.  It made him think how much more repulsive his own face would look if ever anyone should see it.  His mouth twisted in a sneer and then he tugged at the horse’s reins and moved away from the couple.  “I think we’d better get moving, Nennia,” he said, “if we want to get back before dark.”  And before his betrothed could do anything about it, he had his mount trotting down the road without a single courteous farewell.

 

“Thranduil!” gasped Nennia, turning to gaze at her beloved’s face which was grim and set.  “What on earth was all that about?  She’s a lovely woman and you were so rude to her!”

 

The elven king tried to speak to her in the same way as he had Idris and said haughtily that he didn’t want her to associate with Tagrith.  Idris had bent her head in acquiescence but Nennia wasn’t Idris.  “How dare you dictate to me who should and shouldn’t be my friend!” she snapped.  “And I can’t tell you how many notches you have gone down in my opinion for despising someone just because she has a scar on her face.”

 

Thranduil compressed his lips.  How could he explain to her why Tagrith’s scar disturbed him so much?  Better to say nothing at all.  And the two of them rode in complete silence all the way home although both their thoughts were working overtime.

 

Nennia began to wonder just how well she knew Thranduil.  Yes, he was arrogant and haughty but she had never seen him be downright rude like this.  And over something unimportant like a scar.  The more she thought, the more she wondered if something lay behind his attitude.

 

Thranduil, meanwhile, was squirming in distress.  He knew he had upset everyone and, most importantly, Nennia.  And, yet, he had been unable to prevent his response to Tagrith, so how could he ever explain without revealing his secret?  No, he could never do that.

 

Lost in these thoughts, they finally reached the palace where Nennia dismounted without waiting for the king’s help and then strode up to their rooms.  Thranduil followed anxiously behind her.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said humbly, as the door closed behind them.  “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

 

Nennia rounded on him.  “Of course you did,” she snapped.  “You just can’t stand things that are less than beautiful, can you?  And Tagrith falls into that category.  I’m not quite sure I can remain betrothed to someone who is so shallow.”  And she turned and marched over to the cupboards and began to pull out her clothes and throw them on the bed.

 

“What are you doing?” cried Thranduil, his heart turning pitifully in his breast.

 

“What do you think?” was the sharp response.  “I’m going home to think things through.”

 

The king fell on his knees and seized the hem of her skirt.  “Please don’t go,” he whispered.  “I’ll do anything to keep you.”

 

Nennia turned slowly and stared down at his bowed head for a few moments.  “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” she said slowly.

 

He didn’t speak for such a long time that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.  But then he gave the faintest nod.  She knelt on the floor with him and said quietly: “I want you to tell me what it is.”

 

“I can’t,” he answered in such low tones that she hardly caught what he was saying.

 

She stood up and said decisively: “I shall sleep in the other room tonight.  Tomorrow, we shall return to the forge and you will tell me, Thorin, Tauriel, Tagrith and Borondin what is going on or I shall leave you.”

 

“I can’t,” he whispered again.

 

“You have the night to think about it,” she said and then she scooped up her clothes from the bed and walked from the room.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thranduil didn’t sleep a wink that night and when Nennia saw his wan, tired face the next morning, she nearly let him off the hook.  But she sensed the importance of the king revealing his secret and so she stood her ground.

 

“Why do they all have to be there?” he asked her pleadingly.

 

“Because you owe it to me, to Tagrith and to Borondin; and, after you have revealed whatever this secret is, you may need the support of your two best friends, especially Thorin.

 

Yes, he thought; she was probably right.  He would definitely need the support of Thorin and Tauriel afterwards – that is, providing that they didn’t turn from him in horror.

 

They ate a little breakfast in silence once more and then they set out for Thorin’s forge.  Nennia sat stiffly in front of Thranduil and the way that she was distancing herself from him was very difficult for the elf to cope with.  When they finally reached the tree houses in the harbour, Nennia dismounted and knocked on Borondin’s door.  Tagrith opened it and cast a startled glance at Thranduil who was sitting, slumped and despondent, on his horse.  She had never seen him looking less than arrogant and she looked back to Nennia with an enquiring expression on her face.

 

“Thranduil has something to tell us,” Nennia said.  “We want you and Borondin to meet us up at Thorin’s forge as soon as possible.”  Tagrith nodded and then watched the two depart up the hill with a puzzled expression on her face.

 

When they reached the forge, Nennia told Thorin and Tauriel what had happened since they had last met whilst Thranduil sat hunched in the corner.  “He has a secret,” she finally said, “and he will tell everyone all about it once Borondin and Tagrith have arrived.  I believe it will explain his appalling behaviour towards her.”

 

“I hope so,” said Tauriel.  “His rudeness has been difficult for me to swallow for a long time.”

 

Thorin glanced worriedly towards his friend.  His face was drained of colour and he looked as though he were going to his execution.  “Get him a cup of tea, Tauriel,” he said quietly; and, when she had made it, he gently eased it into Thranduil’s cold hands.

 

“He looks almost in a state of shock,” said Tauriel in Nennia’s ear.

 

“I know,” she replied.  “I can’t imagine a secret so dreadful that he has never told anyone.  But, I can’t marry him until I know everything about him.”

 

Tauriel nodded in agreement.  She had kept a secret about her and Lostwithiel for years and when it had finally surfaced, it had caused a lot of trouble.  It was better to start off life together with a clean slate.

 

Borondin and Tagrith knocked on the door then; and, finally, they were all sitting in a circle together.

 

“Come on, my friend,” said Thorin, placing a gentle hand on Thranduil’s arm.

 

“But friend for how much longer?” the king asked with a wry grimace.

 

“That bad, hey?” asked the dwarf, giving his arm a little pat.

 

“Yes, that bad,” said the elf grimly.   Then he took a deep breath and began.

 

“It was centuries ago,” he said, “when a group of fire-drakes came down from the north and the battle against them was long and hard.”

 

The surrounding group nodded, an intent look on their faces.  They had all heard of this although none had been involved.

 

“I was part of an armed force that had been sent out on patrol.  One of the dragons attacked us and nearly finished us all off.  Olorien and I were the last two left standing.  But, the dragon had a weak spot, just like Smaug.  I hid in a ditch and, as he crawled above me, I managed to drive my blade into his heart.”

 

They all sat wide-eyed, listening to his tale.  They had heard that Thranduil had once been called the greatest warrior on Middle-earth.  Nowadays, he seemed more interested in clothes than swords and it was difficult to imagine him being such a renowned warrior.  But this heroic moment must be one reason why.

 

“I had survived – but only just.  With his dying breath, the fire-drake burned away the left hand side of my face.”

 

All eyes now fixed upon Thranduil’s left cheek and they studied its untouched perfection.

 

“Olorien had escaped practically unscathed.  He nursed me and healed my wounds.  Are you surprised he was a close friend?”  Then, he sighed.  “Even though he went bad, I owed him a great debt and I am sorry that he is no longer with us in Valinor.”

 

That explained a lot, thought Thorin.

 

“The left side of my face was totally burned through.  You could see my teeth and part of my skull.  I was lucky not to lose my sight.”

 

They were all gripped by his account and were appalled at what he had gone through.  “That’s a dreadful story,” murmured Tauriel, “but everything’s all right now, isn’t it?”

 

“Is it?” asked Thranduil.  He had come to the difficult bit but he managed to get it out.  “My face is as horrific as it ever was but Olorien taught me a powerful spell of holding so that I could disguise the damage.  Whenever I see anyone with a scarred face, as with Tagrith, I can’t cope because I immediately think of my own – and how much worse it is.”

 

“You must let us see,” said Nennia quietly.

 

White-faced, Thranduil rose to his feet and the others stood up with him.  “I shall now release the spell,” he said in a strained voice.

 

It was almost as if something were eating his face away.  The jaws of the men dropped and the hands of the ladies flew to their mouths.  Thranduil waited for the screams.

 

“Oh, my love,” said Nennia, stepping forward and taking him by one of his hands.  “What you must have suffered.” And she cupped her hand gently to the damaged cheek.

 

“Dearest Thranduil,” said Tauriel, taking him by the other hand.

 

“No wonder my scar upset you,” murmured Tagrith.

 

“I can understand now,” said Borondin.

 

“I’m not surprised they called you the greatest warrior of Middle-earth,” grinned Thorin.  “But, cover it up now, you old show-off, or all the ladies of Valinor will be after you, offering you their comfort.”

 

Thorin’s remark broke the tension and they all laughed gently.  The terrible wound closed up and Thranduil gave a relieved smile.  “I thought you would all scream and run away,” he said.

 

Thorin grunted.  “So that’s your opinion of our friendship, is it?”

 

“Or my love,” said Nennia indignantly.  And she kissed the now perfect cheek.

 

Tears came to Thranduil’s eyes and he gulped.  But then he swallowed hard and turned to Tagrith.  “How can I ever apologise to you,” he said.  “I could only show you scorn because of my fear; but you have offered me compassion.  And I thank you from my heart.”

 

Tagrith was crying too by this time and could only pat his shoulder and keep saying ‘there, there’.  Then Thranduil bent forward and gently kissed her on her scarred forehead.

 

“Time for a cup of tea and a piece of chocolate cake,” smiled Tauriel.  And they all cheered.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Tauriel.  “I just never knew about his scar.”_

_“Neither did I,” said Thorin, “but the laptop did and it guided me through this story.”_

_“Well,” said Tauriel, giving him a hug.  “You’ve certainly righted a wrong there.  I’m so glad that Thranduil and Tagrith can now be friends.  And I can’t believe how much Thranduil has changed: he’s turning into quite a lovely person.”_

_Thorin let out a snort of laughter.  “Don’t you believe it!  He’ll never change.  The rest of us have just learned how to manage him better.  But I think that Nennia has forgiven him, thank goodness.  It would have been a real shame if they had broken up all over a stupid deformity – that no-one can see anyway.  He’s luckier than Tagrith in that respect.”_

_Tauriel sighed.  “I quite regret that Olorien is no longer with us – perhaps he could have cast a spell for Tagrith too.”_

_“But, if her scar is no problem for her friends and those who love her, then it shouldn’t be a problem for Tagrith.”_

_“Thorin,” said Tauriel tenderly, “your face may be perfect on the outside, but the more important thing is that you are perfect on the inside.”  And she grasped his plaits and gave him a passionate and heartfelt kiss._

_That evening, as a purple twilight drew in, they sat outside on the bench and watched the stars slowly come out._

_“Are you happy, Thorin?” asked Tauriel, taking hold of his hand._

_“What do you think, my love?” he replied.  “You know me better than I know myself.”_

_“Hmm,” she pondered for a moment.  “Not completely happy,” she finally said, and he raised a curious  eyebrow.  “But that’s because you’re a malcontent, not happy with the present moment, but always seeking to improve it for your family and your friends and, in fact, for all of Valinor.”_

_Thorin sighed.  “I’m sorry I have such a restless spirit,” he said._

_“I’m not,” smiled Tauriel.  “Without you, our world would be a more wretched and miserable place.”  And she kissed him gently on the cheek and led him into the house.)_

.o00o.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thorin and his Wife. Tauriel has an accident and loses her memory. How will she react when she wakes up and finds a dwarf in her bed and how will Thorin react to her reaction?


	67. Thorin and his Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter is called Thorin and his Wife, in which Tauriel has a nasty accident which results in a dramatic change in her relationship with Thorin.

****  
  
  
  


.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and his Wife

 

Pt I

 

Thorin awoke to find his wife sprawled across him.  Keeping me warm on this fresh spring morning, he grinned to himself.  He sighed contentedly and wriggled beneath her, enjoying the smell of her and the softness of her skin and all the squishy bits that made him so glad he were married, and married to Tauriel.

 

She began to stir. “Shush!” he murmured, not wanting her to wake up and leap efficiently out of bed to make breakfast.  She settled again and he gave a tentative wriggle once more.   Then he relaxed back on the pillows to enjoy these last drowsy moments before the obligations of the day began.

 

As usual on such quiet mornings, he found himself thanking Mahal that Tauriel had come into his life.  He would have to do something for her, to show how much he loved her: something that would give her pleasure.  Then his thoughts were interrupted as she roused again, kissed him and slid from the warmth of his bed.

 

Thorin got up too and pulled out the laptop as she clattered around in the kitchen.  He had had an idea and he tried to type the title _Thorin and the Garden_ , but the laptop kept insisting that he wrote:

 

Thorin and his Wife

 

_(Ah, well, thought Thorin, this machine seems to have a bee in its bonnet about something it wants to say about our relationship.  And since I don’t mind writing a story that focuses on me and Tauriel, I suppose I shall have to see where it leads me.  And so he began.)_

Thorin finished his breakfast and looked out at the day.  It was a chilly one but the sun was shining brightly.  Just the sort of day for a nice spot of gardening, he thought.

 

“I’m just going out for a bit of a dig,” he shouted through to Tauriel.

 

“Oh, good,” she shouted back.  “Are you going to extend that vegetable patch?”

 

“Mmm,” he replied noncommittally, but he grinned into his beard.

 

It was going to be heavy work, he thought, studying the lie of the land.  But, anything for Tauriel.  Rather than a boring old vegetable patch which currently had only a rather unpleasing area for flowers, where decorative stuff for the house grew in rather military ranks, he would create a lovely garden for her with a lawn and beautiful borders and even a pool.  With fish, perhaps.

 

But, the problem was, the plot was full of rocks and stones – some quite large – which would require hard labour to remove.  However, if he only put them to one side rather than disposing of them, it would entail less effort and it would be quite creative of him to make them into a rockery.  Yes, he was more artistic than people like Thranduil gave him credit for.  And he stripped off his shirt and set to with enthusiasm.

 

A couple of hours later, Tauriel came out with a hot drink for him. She paused at the edge of the piece of ground he was tackling and watched him for a while.  Even after all these years, she still found him remarkably attractive.  Those broad shoulders; the powerful arms and muscled chest; that gorgeous head of hair.  And, if I were more like a man, she laughed to herself, I would whistle.  And, why not, she thought?  And she blew him an appreciative whistle.

 

Thorin looked up and grinned.  “What was that for?” he asked.

 

“Perhaps it’s because I like what I see,” she winked.  And then she began to walk carefully towards him over the rough ground with her steaming mug.

 

“Mind that pile of rocks,” said Thorin with concern.  “I’ll come to you.”  And he threw down his spade and hurried towards her.  But Tauriel was already climbing the unstable pile and, suddenly, she slipped, her ankle jammed in a crevice.  The mug smashed and Tauriel fell backwards, her foot still trapped, and banged her head on the ground.  “Tauriel!” yelled Thorin.  But, when he reached her side, she was unconscious. 

 

Thorin looked wildly about him and saw Bilbo strolling down the hill.

 

“Bilbo!  Help me!” he shouted.  And the little hobbit came hurrying over to find Thorin desperately throwing rocks out of the way so that he could release Tauriel’s foot.

 

“Carry her to the house!” Bilbo said.  “I’ll go and fetch the others.”

 

Five minutes later, Thorin, Bilbo, Lostwithiel, Arion and Poppy were all gathered anxiously around the bed.  “She won’t come to,” muttered the dwarf, dabbing his wife’s face with a wet cloth.  “I don’t understand: there’s hardly any blood.”

 

“I’ll go and get the physician,” said Lostwithiel decisively.  And off he ran to the stable next door.  Only a few moments later, they heard him clatter off down the hill and Thorin realised that he hadn’t even bothered with a saddle.  That made him even more afraid.

 

The elf returned with a physician within the hour to find that Tauriel still lay on the bed, white and unconscious.  After a thorough examination, the physician patted Thorin’s hand in a kindly way.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “Did you see the way she was stirring?  She’s just beneath the surface and could come to any minute.  Get her comfortable and, if she still hasn’t woken up by tonight, then sleep with her in case she wakes up in the dark and panics.  Keep things normal and she’ll probably just open her eyes and wonder what all the fuss is about.  I shall come back first thing tomorrow but I doubt that there will be a problem by then.”

 

Well, they couldn’t help but fuss.  During the day, the whole family turned up and took it in turns to sit by her bedside and keep watch whilst Thorin fidgeted in and out of the room all the time.  She seemed to be stirring a lot more but, when it got dark, she appeared to fall into a normal sleep and, eventually, everyone went home and Thorin climbed wearily into bed hoping that things would be back as if nothing had happened by the morning.

 

Poppy had helped him get Tauriel into a nightgown and now he slipped on his own and slid carefully in beside her, trying hard not to touch her in case he hurt her head or swollen ankle any further.  But, in the night, as he slept heavily, Tauriel sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel surfaced slowly, just before the dawn.  She gradually became aware that both her head and ankle hurt but that, otherwise, she was warm and comfortable.  She snuggled into that familiar warmth before a shaft of light came through the open bedroom door and she surfaced a little more.  She registered that her head appeared to be resting on a powerful shoulder, that her hand had slipped in under some linen cloth and was caressing a muscular chest whilst her legs were entwined around a strong thigh.  Most disturbing of all, a huge hand was cupping one of her breasts.  No, that wasn’t the most disturbing thing: that was the fact that the chest and thigh were very, very hairy and that even more hair was tickling her face.

 

Her eyes shot open and then she sat upright and screamed and screamed.  Of all things shocking, she was in bed with a dwarf!

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

When Tauriel started screaming in his ear,  a startled Thorin, ever alert, immediately leaped from the bed and stood there, ready to defend the thing he loved best in the world from whatever it was that had so frightened her.

 

“What is it?” he yelled, staring about him but not seeing any signs of danger.

 

At this, Tauriel leaped out of her side of the bed and, seizing one of her long knives that hung decoratively on the wall, pointed it fiercely at Thorin.  “Get out!” she yelled at him.  “Get out before I kill you!”

 

Thorin stood there blinking and with his mouth open.  But, before he could utter a word, Poppy came dashing in.  She had had a restless night and had finally arisen early to come up the hill to check out how things were.

 

“Mother!” she shouted.

 

Tauriel’s long knife wavered and a look of confusion came over her face.  She was being confronted by a beautiful woman with pretty blond curls who appeared to be an elf – only not.  And she was calling her ‘mother’!  But, she had never seen this woman before in her life!

 

The knife fell from her nerveless grasp and then she buried her head in her hands.  It really did hurt.  And then the strange woman was easing her back onto the pillows and was whispering gently to her that everything would be all right.  It was comforting somehow and she clutched hold of her hand.

 

And then the dwarf was looming over her.  “Tauriel!  Tauriel!” he was saying urgently.  And he had a great mass of black hair and a black beard and startlingly blue eyes.  And there was more hair poking out from the open collar of his nightshirt and she shuddered to think that this was where her hand had been resting.

 

She turned with pleading looks towards the woman.  “Get him out of here,” she said.  “He frightens me.”  And she noticed the hurt and puzzled look that came into his eyes like a puppy that had been kicked.

 

The woman looked at the dwarf and said quietly.  “She seems very confused, father.  I think it’s best that you wait outside.”

 

“Father!” thought Tauriel.  How could a hulking, ugly dwarf produce such a lovely slender woman as the one who clasped her hand?  And her head began to throb even more.

 

“I’m Poppy,” said the woman.  “And it might be best if you tried to go back to sleep.”  And the woman called Poppy gently tucked her in.  Tauriel did as she was told and shut her eyes.  She just wanted to escape from all the strange things that seemed to surround her.  The woman, the dwarf, the whole room – everything was totally unfamiliar to her.

 

The physician arrived soon after this, much to Thorin’s relief.  “She’s awake,” he said, “but she doesn’t seem to recognise me.”  He was given a reassuring pat on the arm and then the physician closeted himself inside the bedroom with Tauriel and Poppy.

 

“You’ve had a bang on the head,” he explained in a kindly fashion, “and you seem to have forgotten who you are.”  Then he told her briefly about her family and how she had come years ago from Middle-earth to the Undying Lands.

 

Tauriel’s mind whirled in disorder.  When she tried to follow what this kind man said, she could only feel a jumbled perplexity. And it just made her head hurt even more.  Who was she?  The dwarf had called her ‘Tauriel’ and she recognised the name but all she remembered about Middle-earth was living there, in Mirkwood, as a captain of the guard to the elven king, Thranduil.  But, they were telling her she was married and had adult children and now lived in Valinor with this dwarf.  What perversity was this!?  And the harder she thought, the greater became her disorientation.  But, she was trying.

 

“Well,” she said to Poppy, with a shaky smile, “if you are indeed my daughter, then I am lucky to have such a beautiful one.”

 

Then Arion was brought in and introduced as her son, and Rosie as her granddaughter.  “I’m named after Rose, your adopted daughter,” said Rosie.   But, when it was explained that this daughter had died naturally of old age many years before, she found that very disturbing.

 

Lostwithiel was the only member of the extended family to be brought into the room so that she wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed and, at last, she recognised someone, just as the physician expected.  “You live in Mirkwood with me,” she exclaimed.

 

“Lived,” said ‘Thiel gently.  “We both left there long ago and now I am married to your daughter, Poppy.”

 

And then they tried bringing Thorin back in again but she shrank away from him still.  “He’s not my husband,” she cried.  “I would never marry a dwarf!  That’s one thing I am sure of.”  And a distressed Thorin withdrew once more from the room.

 

Thorin sat down and wept whilst Bilbo put a comforting arm around his shoulder.  “Not only does she not recognise me,” he cried, “but she is repulsed by me.”  Bilbo couldn’t think of anything to say.

 

At last, the physician emerged from the bedroom.  “This loss of memory could last only a few hours,” he explained, trying to sound positive.  “But, she might take a long time to get even parts of it back, so you must be patient.”  He paused.  “And there’s a possibility that she might not get it back at all.”   Thorin stared at him in horror.  “In the meantime,” he continued, “just try to spend the day going through a normal routine.  Who knows what might prompt her to remember things?  And perhaps you should fetch Thranduil since he is part of the old memories that she still retains.  But, don’t throw too many things at her at once in case it just adds to her confusion.”  And, with a sigh, he left.

 

Tauriel kept to her room, insisting that Poppy stay with her.  “I don’t know why,” she said, “but you make me feel safe.  Perhaps I have some vague memory of you.”  Thorin pottered in and out with hot drinks and food, but Tauriel shrank away from him every time he entered with yet another tray.  He did his best: he kept his head bowed and tried not to stare at her.  And he avoided all direct contact.  When, at one point, he handed her a glass of milk rather than leaving it on the tray and their fingers touched, she flinched so badly that the milk was spilt all over the coverlet.  Thorin practically ran from the room.

 

“He won’t hurt you,” said Poppy gently, almost as upset as her father.

 

“But, he looks so – so – dour and bad-tempered.  And, he may not be tall, but he still looks intimidating and powerful,” returned her mother, trying to explain both to her daughter and herself why she shrank away.

 

Poppy took her hand.  “He is the kindest, most loving person I know,” she said, looking her mother steadily in the eyes.  “He has been the best father and the best husband.  The love that existed – exists – between the two of you has been the stuff of legend.”

 

“But, how could I have loved such an ugly, fearsome creature?” wailed Tauriel and she began to cry.

 

“ _Ugly_?” blinked Poppy.  “How can you say that, mother, when he has the most beautiful face and a body that has turned heads both here and in Middle-earth?  You should try looking at him properly instead of looking away every time he comes into the room.”  And she marched indignantly off to the kitchen to fetch a replacement glass of milk.

 

She passed over the glass to Thorin.  “Take it into her again,” she said firmly.  “Hand it straight over like you did before.”

 

“She’ll drop it again,” Thorin mumbled.

 

“She’d better not,” snapped his daughter.

 

And so, Thorin entered the room cautiously once more.  He stood hesitantly in the doorway, looking up at her through long, black lashes.  “I’ve brought you some more milk,” he said quietly.

 

“Thank you,” muttered Tauriel, and she held out a hand.

 

Thorin passed it carefully to her, making sure there was no contact.  Just as carefully, Tauriel took it from him.  But, this time, she looked into his face.  The features were strong and chiselled, the mouth finely shaped and the blue eyes gave her a quick, uncertain glance.  Definitely not threatening – what had made her think that?   And quite handsome – if that was the sort of thing you liked.

 

“Thank you,” she said again.  And he nodded and hurried from the room.

 

“Well?” asked Poppy sharply as she came back in.

 

“You were right,” replied her mother.  “He is quite handsome.”  Then the corner of her mouth lifted in a little smile.  “And women find him attractive, you say?  Just dwarf women?”

 

Poppy sat down with a laugh.  “Not just dwarf women – although there was one who went to great lengths to take him from you, or so the story goes.”  Tauriel leaned back on her pillows, a curious expression on her face.  Poppy pulled down the top of her gown to reveal a scar above the left breast.  “Well, that was made by another woman who wanted him so much that she tried to kill him when she realised it just wasn’t going to happen.  I got in the way.”  Tauriel clapped a hand to her mouth in horror.

 

“There are plenty of elf women here in Valinor,” Poppy continued, “who have a bit of a crush on him and sigh when he goes past.  And the painting of him in the Moot Hall which depicts him half naked, always has a gaggle of elven ladies about it.  On top of that, when he sings, they swoon all over the place.”  And Poppy giggled into her hand.

 

“He sings?” asked Tauriel.

 

“Oh, yes,” her daughter replied.  “He has _the_ most beautiful voice.  Perhaps you should ask him to sing for you.  It’s not only very soothing but it might bring back the odd memory.”

 

“All right,” said Tauriel curiously.  “Ask him to sing.  But just stay in the room with me,” she added quickly.

 

“Get your harp out, father,” said Poppy with a smile, as she came back into the sitting-room.  “She wants you to sing.  That’s progress.”

 

Thorin eagerly got his harp but walked tentatively into the room.  Tauriel gestured to a chair in the far corner and then lay back and closed her eyes.  The sweeping sound of the harp was so delicate that she opened her eyes again because it was almost impossible to believe that Thorin’s big hands had produced such an exquisite sound.  And then he opened his mouth and began to sing a melancholy dwarven song, chosen especially because it had been one of her favourites.  And her daughter had been right.  He did have a beautiful voice, deep and rich and poignant: one that touched on her heart strings just as delicately as his fingers touched on the strings of the harp.

 

At the end, there was a long, silent pause.  Then: “Yes, it stirs something in my memory,” she said softly.  “Thank you for that.  Perhaps you could sing for me again tomorrow.”  And, with that, Thorin had to be content.

 

When the evening came, Poppy prepared to go home.  “Must you really leave me on my own with him?” Tauriel asked her plaintively.

 

“Yes,” said Poppy.  “You are becoming far too dependent on my presence.  You and father must work things out together.”

 

After she had gone, Tauriel sat stiffly up in bed, wondering if Thorin would insist on sharing it with her – and if he would demand his conjugal rights.  Well, she thought, he would have to take a straight ‘no’ and, if he were as lovely as Poppy insisted, then he would accept her answer.

 

A soft tap came on the door and Tauriel steeled herself for the confrontation she was sure would come.  But, Thorin entered the room quietly and, with an ‘excuse me just for a moment’, he went to a cupboard and pulled out some bed linen and a pillow.  “I’ll sleep in the other room,” he muttered.  And then he was gone.

 

Tauriel felt a fleeting moment of disappointment.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Lying there in the dark, Tauriel tossed and turned and was unable to sleep.  In the next room, Thorin built up the fire and made himself a bed on the sofa.

 

Some hours later, Tauriel finally crept to the bedroom door.  She would just get herself a hot drink and perhaps that would help her sleep, she thought.  The dwarf should be fast asleep by now.  But, as she crossed the room to the kitchen, she glanced back to the sofa and found that he, like her, was still awake.  She could see his eyes shining in the glow of the fire and they were following her.  She took a deep breath.  “I’m just getting myself a hot drink,” she murmured politely.  “Would you like one, too?”

 

“Yes, please,” he rumbled in that dark, sensuous voice.  ‘Sensuous’?  Where did that word come from, she wondered?  But, then she shook herself and limped off into the kitchen. 

 

When she returned with the drinks, he nodded to the couch opposite.  “Do you want to talk?” he asked quietly.

 

She nodded and sat down, tucking her feet up under her and clasping her mug in her hands.  The glow from the dying coals cast the only light but his eyes were piercing and the red gleam from the dying embers picked out a massive shoulder with its warm radiance.  He appeared to be stripped to the waist and she found it difficult to tear her eyes away from his shadowed biceps.  What extraordinary strength, she thought.  He certainly wasn’t built like an elf.  But, when he saw her staring, he pulled the sheet a little higher up his chest in such a shy way that she had to smile a little. Such modesty, after all those years they had supposedly spent together, she thought.  But, then, perhaps this gesture showed how sensitive he was being to her needs.

 

He was the first to break the silence.  “You’re limping,” he said.  “Does your ankle still hurt?”

 

“Just a little,” she replied.  And felt grateful for his concern.

 

Thorin stared at her with a breaking heart.  She was his beloved Tauriel and he just wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her.  But, he knew that he couldn’t do that and he wondered if he had lost her forever.  Were all those wonderful years they had spent together truly stripped from her memory?  He just couldn’t believe it.

 

“So, how did we meet?” she suddenly asked.

 

“Under very unfortunate circumstances at my forge in Ered Luin.”  And he gave her a wry look.

 

“Is that where you went after Smaug came?  I remember the destruction of Erebor.”

 

“Yes.  I was there trying to make an honest living when you came into my life, accused me of stealing something from you, chained me up and left me in my forge.”

 

“Oh dear,” said Tauriel.  “That sounds like a good start.”

 

“And it got even better,” laughed Thorin.  “When I was on a quest to reclaim my kingdom 6 months later, you chained me up again and threw me into Thranduil’s dungeons.  Then, when I escaped, you chased me all the way to Lake Town to recapture me.”

 

“And did I?” asked Tauriel, her eyes wide.

 

“Well,” said Thorin quietly, “you captured my heart.  And I think I must have captured yours because, before I set out to confront Smaug, we spent the night together.”

 

Tauriel looked shocked.  “I just can’t accept that,” she exclaimed indignantly.  “A dwarf and an elf together – in bed – and not even married!  It’s unheard of.”

 

Thorin laughed.  “Now don’t look so appalled,” he said.  “It was very beautiful, you know.”

 

“It was?” she asked in wonder.  “And then, I suppose you killed Smaug and married me and made me queen of Erebor.”

 

“Umm, no,” confessed Thorin.  “It became very complicated.”  And he told her of the way he had mishandled everything and how it was only her determination that had finally led to their betrothal.

 

She was fascinated, but it was as if Thorin were talking about another person who had been involved in an interesting relationship long ago.  It certainly rang no bells with her.

 

He spent another hour trying to fill her in on their early years together but, when he saw her getting tired, he suggested that she tried to sleep.  She nodded and yawned.  “Thank you for talking to me,” she said and then she pattered off to her bed and slept undisturbed for hours.  Thorin, however, lay thinking about his love for her and their life together until the dawn came in.

 

.o00o.

 

When she got up the next morning, she found that he had breakfast waiting for her on the table and she laughed.

 

“What are you laughing about?” he asked curiously.

 

“I was just thinking of an elf lord playing mother and I just can’t imagine it.  Lostwithiel or Thranduil, say,” she responded.

 

“Well, perhaps not Thranduil,” he said with a grin.  “But you trained up Lostwithiel well and my daughter has continued the job.”

 

“Trained him?” she asked.

 

“Yes.  You ran an outpost in Ered Luin – our first line of defence against invading orcs – and you really knocked your troops into shape.  They could all cook and do housework by the time you had finished with them.”

 

“I did?” she said.  “Were we effective?”

 

“Oh, yes.  And I was their weapons master.  We stood shoulder to shoulder against the enemy on many occasions.”

 

“That sounds so exciting,” she sighed.  “I really wish I could remember all these things.”

 

Just remember the bits about you and me, thought Thorin.  That’s all I ask.

 

After breakfast, Thorin went out to dig in the garden and soon Tauriel came to lean on the fence.  He was stripped to the waist and she was rather disturbed by what she saw.  She was beginning to feel comfortable with his strangeness and his differences but his tattoos were, perhaps, a step too far.  That and the hairiness of his chest which was more startling in the bright light of day.  He saw her staring with a slight twist of distaste on her lips and he sighed.

 

“It took you some time to get used to my tattoos,” he reassured her, “but, in the end, especially when you got to know their meaning, you learned to like them.”

 

“They have meanings?” she asked.

 

“Yes.  Like, the one across my shoulders says ‘Tauriel’.”  She looked rather pleased at that.  “And one day, I shall tell you all over again what the others are about.”

 

Thus satisfied, Tauriel turned to the garden.  “What are you doing?” she asked.  “Extending the vegetable garden?”

 

“Aha!” he said.  “That’s what I let you think on the morning of the accident.  But, actually, I’m making a pretty garden with a pool and some flowers, just for you.”

 

“For me?” she exclaimed, blushing prettily.  “How kind of you!”

 

But, just as Thorin felt he was making some progress with rebuilding their relationship, Thranduil came riding up the hill and dismounted from his horse with a look of concern on his face.  Tauriel clapped her hands together, ran over to him and, throwing herself on his chest, she burst into tears.  “Oh, Thranduil!” she cried.  “At last, a face I recognise.”

 

Thranduil glanced at a glaring Thorin and felt very uncomfortable.  He hesitantly waved his hands around, inches from her shoulders, as if he didn’t know whether to hug her or not.  “Er, how are you feeling?” he asked patting her awkwardly.

 

“So much better for seeing you!” she exclaimed.  “Take me away with you, Thranduil.  I’ll do anything.  Marry you, if you wish.  I know that’s what you want.  I feel so miserable amongst all these strangers.”  And she burst into tears once more.

 

Thorin looked as though he had been felled with an axe.  Lostwithiel had warned Thranduil of the situation but the elf was totally shocked by what he now found.  He put Tauriel gently from him.  “I can’t take you home with me, Tauriel,” he said quietly.  “I am betrothed and shall be married within the year.”  And, anyway, he thought to himself, Thorin is my best friend and I would never do anything like that to him now, even though I would have jumped at the chance not so very long ago.

 

Tauriel looked distraught.  “I’m sorry,” Thranduil said firmly.  “You belong here with Thorin and, when you get your memory back, you will be appalled that you now choose me over him.  I’m a very poor second, you know.”  And he looked up and gave Thorin an apologetic glance.  He walked over to the dwarf and gripped him by the shoulder.  “I thought I might help,” he murmured, “but it would seem that I have only made things worse.”  And he gestured towards Tauriel who was now sitting despondently on a nearby stone.

 

“Thanks for trying,” said Thorin, “but nothing seems to be helping much at the moment.”

 

“I’ll be staying with Poppy and ‘Thiel, if you need me,” Thranduil said.  And he led his horse sadly away.

 

Tauriel was bad-tempered for the rest of the day and Thorin stayed out of her way in the garden.  If only something would give her memory a nudge, he thought.

 

The family visited briefly that afternoon but that didn’t seem to help her bad humour.  Then, that evening, after he had made supper, Thorin brought out his harp and tried singing again.  She seemed to enjoy it but still remained sulky and uncommunicative.

 

“Let’s go to bed,” he finally said.  “You might feel better in the morning.”

 

He began to tidy up in the kitchen, giving her some privacy to prepare herself for the night.  Then he knocked on the bedroom door once more so that he could collect his bed linen from the cupboard.  She was sitting up in bed when he entered.  Then, as he shut the cupboard door, she suddenly said: “Is the sofa uncomfortable?”

 

“Yes, a bit,” he replied. 

 

There was a pause, then: “If you can keep to your side, you can share the bed, if you wish.”  Thorin’s heart gave a little somersault of hope.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Thorin got undressed in the sitting room and, after putting on his nightshirt, he came back into the bedroom, slid into bed and turned off the lamp.  They lay on their backs in the darkness, at least a foot separating them.

 

After an hour, both of them were still awake, totally aware of the heat being generated by each other’s bodies and painfully sensitive to each other’s breathing.  Finally, Tauriel cleared her throat.

 

“Didn’t you find it odd, falling in love with an elf and then being forced to associate with so many of them?  After all, there’s only one other dwarf here in Valinor and surely Thranduil was one of your enemies?”

 

“Yes,” replied Thorin.  “It was very hard at first: the elves of the Grey Havens, your troop, visits from the elves of Rivendell and Mirkwood, making my peace with Thranduil.  Many of them despised me because I was a dwarf and I had to work very hard to win their approval – and I resented it.  But, I fell in love with you almost immediately and I didn’t care that you were an elf: I just wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

 

“And did I have the same attitude towards you and other dwarves?” was the next question.

 

“Oh, yes,” smiled Thorin into the dark.  “You had many friends up at the dwarven settlement in the Blue Mountains and you were extremely close to my sister, Dis.  My company in Erebor, especially Balin, were very fond of you, too, and helped to bring us back together when things started to go wrong.”

 

“And what of Thranduil?” she asked.  “I remember that he wanted to marry me and that I seriously considered it.”

 

“I was very jealous of Thranduil for years – and of Lostwithiel,” he answered honestly.  “It caused some dreadful arguments and a lot of pain and anguish.  But we always resolved things.  And now Thranduil is my best friend.”

 

“It seems so strange,” she pondered slowly, “that I should be attracted to a dwarf.  Your bodies are so different: all that hair, the beard, the huge muscles, the piercings  -  I thought they were things that elves found repugnant.”

“Well, they usually do,” Thorin laughed.  “But none of these things really seemed to bother you.  In fact, you often told me that you found them attractive.  And the elves of Valinor have slowly become accustomed to me as well.  Tattoos and piercings are quite fashionable at the moment, you know.”

 

There was a long pause.  Then Tauriel finally asked: “Did we – did we – umm – were we – compatible in bed?”

 

Thorin let out a shout of laughter.  “Were we!  It’s a standing joke just how well we got along as far as that side of our relationship was concerned.  I was an Agony Aunt in the Grey Havens because they thought I had so much experience and Frodo wrote an entire sex manual based on what happened in our bedroom!”

 

“Oh,” said Tauriel.  And if it hadn’t been dark, Thorin would have seen her blush.

 

Suddenly, Tauriel’s fingers reached across the divide and touched Thorin’s own.  “Will you hold my hand?” she asked.  “I feel so frightened at night, you know.”  And Thorin clasped her hand in his and slowly they drifted off to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

Praise be to Mahal!  It had all been a nightmare, thought Thorin as he began to wake up and felt Tauriel’s body sprawled across him.  She was warm and soft and he ran a hand up her bare leg and gently squeezed a buttock.  Then he dipped his head and searched for her lips with his own.  His mouth brushed across hers and she sighed and kissed him back.  Gently, he turned her on the pillow and rolled on top of her.  Her arms went around his neck and she pulled him tightly and urgently into her embrace.  Love and a sleepy desire mixed together in a sweet union of their bodies until they finally fell apart, gasping and satisfied.

 

Tauriel edged away from him.  “I only meant to hold your hand,” she said guiltily.  “That just – happened.”

 

Thorin’s heart sank as the day woke him up to its reality.  Their love-making had been an accident.  Her memory loss was still there.

 

“But,” she said, turning on her side to face him, “my body remembered you, even in its sleep.  And that was a very lovely thing.”  Her hand went to his face and she caressed his silken beard and then she seized him by his braids and wrapped them around her fists.  “And my hands remember doing this,” she continued, “and this,” she said, as she ran her fingers through his hair.  “And my lips remember this.”  And she pulled his mouth down fiercely upon her own.  “And my body yearns to sleep within the circle of your arms.”  Then she snuggled up against his great chest.  “Perhaps the rest of me will eventually catch up with the memory of my body and my hands and my lips,” she whispered.  And Thorin wrapped his powerful arms about her and they both fell back to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

Daylight streaming into the bedroom finally woke them once more.  “Thorin?” said Tauriel; and he opened his eyes and gazed into her own.  “Thorin!” she repeated.  And she smiled.  “I know these lips, this beard, this hair, this throat.”  And she left a trail of kisses down his face and over his neck and chest.  “I _know_ them!”

 

Thorin swallowed hard.  “You mean you remember me?  Really remember me?” he asked in a voice tinged with hope.

 

“How could I ever forget you, my love?” she asked softly.  And as the sunlight bathed the room, he drew her into his arms and laughingly allowed her to remember all of him once more.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, my goodness,” gasped Tauriel over Thorin’s shoulder.  “What a dreadful, dreadful story!  That was such a horrible experience!  What was this laptop thinking about, to make up a story like that?!”_

_“I don’t think it was exactly dreadful,” said Thorin thoughtfully.  “I think it was trying to remind us of all the precious things we have and to warn us not to treat them lightly or we may lose them.”_

_“Well!” replied Tauriel tartly.  “I don’t need any reminders like_ that _, thank you very much!  I know exactly what I have and just how valuable things are to me.”  And she grumbled her way outside and sat down on the bench in the evening sun.  “And now that wretched machine has spoiled your lovely surprise as well.  A proper garden will be a delightful thing to have.”_

_Thorin sat down and put his arm around her.  “Well, I couldn’t have kept it a secret for very much longer,” he said.  “It’s already beginning to take shape.  And it doesn’t look much like a vegetable patch.”_

_“No,” said Tauriel softly, kissing him on the cheek.  “It looks like a truly gorgeous present from the most wonderful husband in the world.”  And they both sat and admired it for a while until it was time to go inside and make supper.)_

 

.o00o.

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that you enjoyed that!
> 
> Next week: Thorin and Thranduil’s Dinner Party. Thranduil decides to hold a small and intimate dinner party. His betrothed, Nennia, will be there. And his closest friends, Tauriel and Thorin. And, oh yes……his ex betrothed, Idris, the mother of his baby daughter, Gilrin. Is there a problem, LOL? Well, we might be able to see one but Thranduil can’t. When it all blows up in his face, then he’ll be sorry!


	68. Thorin and Thranduil's Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin to the rescue again as Thranduil organises a dinner party. But, has the elven king given enough thought to the interaction that is likely to take place between his guests?
> 
>  
> 
> This story was instigated by a reader and suggestions are always welcome.

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s Dinner Party

 

Pt I

 

“Lie down,” whispered Thorin, sliding Tauriel’s nightgown up her leg and kissing the top of her thigh.

 

“All right,” she replied, wriggling down until she lay on the pillow next to him, “but, I’m concerned about this dinner party of Thranduil’s.”

 

Thorin sighed.  “What on earth is there to worry about?  Thranduil and Nennia have invited us to a nice sociable event.  Just the four of us.  And Idris.  We should all have a delightful evening together and it will give Idris and Nennia time to get to know each other.  Should be lovely.  And he stocks some great wine.”

 

“It’s the ‘ _and Idris_ ’ part that worries me.  All you seem to care about is the food and the drink.  What if Nennia and Idris don’t get on well together?  It could cause a real problem,” muttered Tauriel, crinkling her brow.

 

Thorin pulled his wife to him and thought how nice she smelled and, here they were, discussing all this unimportant stuff which really was no business of theirs and wasting good bed time.  “Why shouldn’t they get along?  They’ve got plenty in common.”

 

“Like?” asked Tauriel.

 

“Well, umm, they’re both women.  Er, they’re both friends of yours.  And, umm,” continued Thorin desperately wracking his brains, “they’ve both slept with Thranduil.”

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” snapped the elf, sitting up in bed once more and slapping her husband’s hand away.  “That’s the least reassuring thing you could say.  It’s the whole reason why things might boil over into a tremendous row.  You’re putting two insecure women in a room with each other whilst Thranduil plays piggy in the middle between them.”

 

Thorin blinked.  “But, why should either of them feel insecure?  Nennia is Thranduil’s betrothed and should feel secure in that position.   Idris _was_ his betrothed but it was she who chose to cast him off.  She doesn’t want him any more so why should she feel insecure?”

 

Tauriel sighed and explained patiently to her stupid husband.  “Nennia may currently be Thranduil’s betrothed but she’ll begin to wonder if he is making comparisons between them and thinking that perhaps he has made a mistake, especially since Idris holds the most important card: she’s the mother of his child.  Idris will be wondering how good Nennia is in bed – she’s obviously held his interest – and Nennia is younger than she is.  And, what about the child?  Will Nennia start to become an important figure in Gilrin’s life?  Will Nennia eventually elbow Idris out and take over the maternal role?”

 

“And what will Thranduil be thinking?” asked Thorin curiously, appreciating the insight that his wife was giving him into women’s thought processes.

 

Tauriel grimaced.  “He’ll be thinking how wonderful it is to have everyone gathered so amiably together – until the whole thing blows up in his face.  And then he’ll flap his hands and won’t know what to do.”

 

“And what are we doing there?” asked the dwarf rather apprehensively. 

 

“We’re the buffers, of course, the ones who are expected to defuse things when it all kicks off.”

 

“Oh,” said Thorin.  And suddenly, the quality of Thranduil’s wine didn’t quite make up for the difficult evening they might have to endure.

 

.o00o.

 

They both had a restless night, and the next morning, Thorin decided that it would be best if he met the situation head on and so he got out the laptop.

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s Dinner Party

 

_(he wrote.  Tauriel sat next to him, offering advice.  “I don’t think you’ve fully got to grips with things,” she muttered.  And so, between them - and with the interference of the know-it-all laptop - they managed to construct a story.)_

That afternoon, Thorin and Tauriel rode together to Thranduil’s palace by the sea.  It should have been a lovely ride.  Instead, it was spoiled because Tauriel felt compelled to lecture her husband on what to say and what not to say, what danger points to look out for and how to turn the tide of conversation should things get nasty that evening when everyone was gathered together at a private dinner party: just the Oakenshields, Thranduil, Nennia and Idris.

 

“A bit too intimate,” sighed Tauriel.  “If only Thranduil had organised a more general or relaxed occasion with plenty of other people there – like an elegant soirée or even a barbecue – then things would have less of a chance of going wrong.”

 

Nennia and Thranduil greeted them warmly when they arrived, then sent them off to a guest room where they could relax and prepare for the night.  “They seem to be in a good mood,” said Thorin optimistically.  Tauriel just pulled a face.

 

When the time came, they both walked down the corridor to Thranduil’s apartments looking very smart.  Tauriel held onto Thorin’s arm.  “You look wonderful,” she whispered in his ear.  “I could fall in love with you all over again.”

 

“And you’re looking very tempting too,” whispered Thorin back.  “Be careful, or I shall feel obliged to turn around and take you back to our chambers this very minute.  Call off sick, or something, and leave them alone to sort out their own problems.”

 

But, they were at Thranduil’s door and Tauriel was knocking on it.  “Pity,” sighed Thorin.

 

“Come in, come in!” cried the elven king in far too jolly a voice.  And, when they did enter the dining room, they could see why.  Nennia and idris were seated at the table already, both looking rather grumpy and both wearing almost identical dresses – pale blue with lots of spangles.  You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

 

“Good start,” muttered Thorin under his breath.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“Oh my,” exclaimed Thorin, remembering Tauriel’s advice about defusing any tension, “don’t you two look just lovely?  That shade of blue really suits you!  I’m not surprised that you both chose something similar!”

 

Nennia and Idris continued to glower and Thranduil and Tauriel who were standing behind them rolled up their eyes at him.

 

“What?” mouthed Thorin at his wife as she hurried him to his seat.  But, all she did was roll her eyes some more.

 

_First course_

 

A delicate first course was brought in by servants, an elegant creation of marinated raw fish.  Thorin poked at it for a bit until Tauriel kicked him under the table whereupon he managed to force it down.

 

“We had a lovely ride here,” Tauriel was saying.  “The view of the beach from the road is quite stunning.”

 

“Yes,” murmured Thorin wickedly and with a straight face.  “All those beautiful and sheltered sand dunes.  Very secluded.  Tauriel and I used to love our picnics there.  I can still remember the sun on my bare back.”

 

Thranduil sat at the head of the table with his betrothed and ex-betrothed seated either side of him.  Nennia placed a possessive hand over his.  “Ah, yes, my love,” she murmured, “we’ve spent quite a few lovely days down on the beach, too, haven’t we, under those pine trees?”

 

Thranduil cleared his throat and all eyes turned expectantly towards him, but he could only mutter, “Mmm.”

 

“Goodness,” said Idris brightly (a bit too brightly, thought Thorin), “that beach IS popular.  When Thranduil and I used to go there – before your time, Nennia – the pine trees always gave off _such_ a delightful smell, but those needles could be quite sharp.  Like Thorin, I preferred the seclusion of the dunes.”

 

“But, I think, Idris, dear,” replied Nennia, her tones like cut glass, “that Thranduil prefers it under the trees.  Those needles can be so painful, you know, but all you need to do is ensure that you are on top and remember your partner’s _especial_ preferences.”

 

Idris blushed and bit her lip; and Thorin and Tauriel, who had been listening with fascination to this conversation, both rushed in to plug the gap.  Thorin meant to make a rather suspect joke about pins and needles so it was just as well that Tauriel got there first with: “It will be lovely to take Gilrin onto the beach when she’s older, won’t it, Idris?”

 

Idris pointedly turned her back on Nennia and discussed the joys of playing  with children as they grew up whilst Thorin talked at length about the naughty things that his children – especially Rose – used to get up to on the beaches of the Grey Havens when they were growing up in Middle-earth.

 

“Can’t let them out of your sight, you know.  Dis always used to say about her two that you needed eyes in the back of your head.  And she was right.  I’d turn to sort out one and the other two were causing mayhem within seconds.  Don’t have any more, Thranduil.  One’s enough to be getting on with.”

 

It was only after he had said it that Thorin realised his mistake.  It had been said as a careless joke but Idris looked smug, Nennia looked upset and Thranduil looked panic-stricken like a man about to be pulled apart by wild horses.

 

“Of course he wants some more,” snapped Tauriel, giving Thorin’s ankle yet another kick.  “Nennia will make a lovely mother.”

 

“Oh, yes, definitely yes,” exclaimed Thorin.  And, not being the sort of dwarf who was less than afraid of marching in where angels fear to tread, he added jovially, “One of each and one _from_ each should make for a pretty good family set-up.”  And a cold silence descended upon the table, fortunately broken by the arrival of the second course.

 

_Second Course_

A plate of delicious smelling food was placed before Thorin and he sniffed it appreciatively.  The meat had been delicately fried: crispy on the outside and white and creamy on the inside, this being accompanied by a salad with a fresh, lemony dressing.

 

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Thorin, as he began to tackle the dish.  “Now, Thranduil,” he grinned, “I hope you’re not being provocative but I have a good memory and the last time I remember eating something like this was back in your dungeons in Mirkwood.  Not,” he added hastily, as Tauriel kicked him for the nth time that evening, “that I am implying that this is prison fare.  But, it was the Feast of Starlight, and all the prisoners got to share in the delicacies that were being handed around.”  And he quickly polished off his plate.

 

“More?” asked Thranduil politely, pleased that at least this aspect of the evening was going along nicely.

 

“Oh, yes, please,” said Thorin with a wide grin and, as a servant refilled his plate, he asked:  “And can you tell me exactly what part of the animal this dish is made from?  Perhaps you can give Tauriel the recipe.”

 

“But, I already know the recipe,” interrupted his wife.  “It’s just that I didn’t think you’d eat it.  These are various sweetbreads, you know, considered a great delicacy by the elves.”

 

“Sweetbreads?” asked Thorin.

 

“Yes, you know.”  And she whispered in his ear.

 

Thorin brought his napkin rapidly to his lips before he threw up on the table.  Then he washed away the taste with a large swig of wine.  Then he pushed his half-eaten plate away from him.

 

“Very nice,” he muttered, “but I believe I am full.”

 

“Well, let’s hope you can force down a little dessert,” smiled Nennia.

 

“Yes, definitely a space for that,” he replied.  Anything to take away the taste – and the thought – of those sweetbreads!

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

_Dessert_

 

The polite conversation that everyone had struggled with during the eating of the second course was, unfortunately, only the calm before the storm.

 

“Fantastic!” said Thorin as a steaming hot chocolate pudding was brought into the room.  “My favourite!”

 

“Yes, I knew it was,” smiled Thranduil.  “I thought I’d treat you.”

 

And as he plonked a great dollop of cream on the top of his helping, Thorin concluded that absolutely no-one around the table could possibly feel bad-tempered with a spoonful of hot chocolate and cream in their mouth.

 

He was just polishing off a second helping and wondering if it would look greedy if he asked for another, when a smiling Maeve, the wet-nurse, carried Gilrin into the room.

 

“Ooo,” cooed Tauriel, “and don’t you look a pretty girl?”  And, this was no exaggeration: Gilrin was a toddler now and was the most exquisite child.  Both Thranduil and Idris looked very pleased with themselves whilst Nennia glared like a sullen outsider.  Idris held out her hands to receive her baby and then gestured that Maeve could retire for the moment.

 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” she said gleefully, covering Gilrin’s face with kisses.  “I think she looks like an absolute cross between Thranduil and me.”  And she fingered Gilrin’s silver-gilt hair.  “She would never be mistaken for someone else’s daughter, would she, Nennia?”

 

Forced into this uncomfortable conversation, Nennia wasn’t going to let herself be made to feel inadequate.

 

“I’d love to have a son with silver-gilt hair: someone who is the image of Thranduil.  Sons are _so_ important to their fathers, don’t you think, Idris?  Although I’m sure that a son would _never_ supplant Gilrin in his affections.”  And she said this last as if she were just being kind but didn’t quite believe what she said.

 

“I’m sure you’re right there,” said Idris smoothly.  And she stood and placed Gilrin on Thranduil’s knee.  “Give daddy a kiss,” she said.  “You know how much he loves you.”

 

Gilrin flung her little arms around Thranduil’s neck and kissed him enthusiastically and Thranduil jiggled her up and down with an infatuated smile on his face.  Thorin noticed that Nennia was looking more and more wretched as Idris, Gilrin and the elven king played happy families and decided to come to the rescue.

 

He got up from his chair and held out his hands to the child.  “It’s your Uncle Thorin,” he grinned.  Gilrin, suddenly noticing him, shrieked with delight and tried to wriggle off her father’s lap.  She knew the dwarf very well by now and adored this hunky, hairy father-substitute to bits.

 

“Forin!” she giggled and Thranduil had to release her into his waiting arms.

 

The elf pulled a sad face.  “All the ladies prefer you to me, Thorin,” he grumbled with a pretended jealousy.  But he was more than pleased to share the wonder that was Gilrin with his best friend.  Thorin swung the screeching child up in the air and then hugged her against his chest where her little hands immediately took a dive into his heavy black locks to play with the earrings and cuffs that she knew were hidden there.

 

“You’ve always been so wonderful with her,” smiled Idris.

 

“Years of practice,” was the response.  Then he looked towards a scowling Nennia and said, “Come on, Nennia.  Help me out.  Let’s leave the grown-ups to finish off their dessert in peace.”

 

Reluctantly, she got up and followed him to a quiet corner of the room where he sat on the floor with Gilrin so that the elf was obliged to follow suit.

 

“I’m no good at this,” she muttered. “I’ve never had any experience with children and I just don’t know what to do to entertain them. We haven’t even got any toys to play with, have we?”

 

“Does Gilrin look as though she needs toys?” he asked with an exaggerated wince as she continued to tug at the rings on his ears.  “Just look around you and see what objects you can find that might amuse her.”  And he plonked a startled Gilrin down in her lap.

 

Thorin laughed when he saw the terrified look pass over the elf woman’s face.  “Is this the first time you’ve ever held a child?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” she bleated.  “Whenever Idris visits with her, the two of them go off in a huddle with Thranduil and I feel quite excluded.  I think she does it on purpose, you know.”

 

“I expect she does,” grinned Thorin.  “But, look, it’s not so hard.”  And he nodded towards the little girl who had discovered Nennia’s necklace and was playing with it quite happily.

 

The elf began to get the idea.  “Just reach me down a pair of spoons, Thorin,” she said, nodding to the buffet table behind him where there was a cutlery box.

 

“Let me guess,” he laughed as he handed over two silver spoons.  And he guessed right because Nennia trapped the spoons back to back between the fingers of one hand and, much to Gilrin’s delight, began to bang them against her arm so that they made a delightful clacking noise.

 

“Me do it!” she cried, reaching out for this fascinating new toy and she played with them for at least five minutes before she realised that she just didn’t have Nennia’s skill, at which point, she dropped the spoons irritably and began to grizzle.  Idris looked over her shoulder to see why she was crying and then looked pleased that Nennia was apparently losing control.

 

“What next?” Nennia whispered urgently to the dwarf.

 

He was leaning back against the wall, grinning at her discomfort.  “Oh, come on,” he said, “surely you can remember some songs that your mother sang you when you were young?”  And Nennia wrinkled her brow in thought for a few moments and then drew up her knees and perched the little girl precariously on top of them.  Gilrin stopped crying and looked ready to be amused.

 

In a sweet, jolly voice, Nennia began singing a remembered song about elven lords and ladies:

 

_“This is the way the ladies ride_

_Trot-trot, trot-trot, trot-trot._

_This is the way the ladies ride_

_Trot-trot, trot-trot, trot-trot.”_

 

And, as she sang, she made perky little trotting motions with her knees.  Gilrin, bouncing up and down, began to giggle.  Then, in slower tones, and making her knees, rise and fall in larger movements, she continued:

 

_“See the elf lords passing by._

_Ga-llop, ga-llop, ga-llop._

_See the elf lords passing by,_

_Ga-llop, ga-llop, ga-llop.”_

 

Gilrin’s giggles got louder and Tauriel, Thranduil and Idris looked over to see what she found so amusing.  “Good song!” called out Thranduil.

 

And then, Nennia reached the climax.  Her knees began to move in quite a violent, random rhythm and she sang in a deep, grunty voice which made the little girl look scared and excited all at the same time:

 

_“This is the way the goblins ride,_

_Hobble-dee-ee, hobble-dee-ee,_

_This is the way the goblins ride,_

_Hobble-dee-ee,_

_And_

_D-O-O-W-N into a ditch!!!”_

 

At this last line, Nennia suddenly jerked open her legs and, with a carefully controlled movement, allowed the child to ‘fall’ between them to the floor.  For a moment, Gilrin lay on her back, wide-eyed and shocked.  Idris, who had been watching, began to jump to her feet indignantly.  But, then, Gilrin suddenly shrieked with laughter.  ‘Gain!  ‘Gain!  ‘Gain!” she cried.

 

After three more goes of the song amid much laughter and tickles and mayhem, Idris came marching across the room.  “Give her to me,” she demanded.

 

“What?” grinned Thorin.  “When she’s having so much fun?”

 

“I would have thought,” snapped the mother, “that you would both have known better – getting her so over-excited before she goes to bed!”  And she reached down and snatched her angrily out of Nennia’s arms.  “I can see,” she continued icily, “that you have no idea how to look after a child!”

 

As her mother carried her towards the door, Gilrin began to shout tearfully: “Wan’ Nenn’a!  Wan’ Nenn’a!  Bad mummy!”  This was the last straw, and with a baleful look, Idris swept out of the room.  The four of them could hear the little girl crying all the way down the corridor.

 

“Oh dear!” said Thorin, pulling a face.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

As Tauriel had predicted, Thranduil just stood there and flapped his hands.  But, then he turned on his betrothed.  “Did you have to upset Idris like that?” he asked.

 

“What?!” said Nennia indignantly.  “ _What_?! All I was doing was playing with the child and having a nice time with her.  It was Idris who upset her by dragging her away when she was having fun.”

 

“Well,” persisted the elven king, “you don’t know much about children, do you?”

 

Nennia was hurt and snapped: “No, but Thorin does and I was playing with her under his guidance.”  Then she burst into tears.  “You and Idris don’t exactly give me the opportunity to know Gilrin, do you?  I always feel so shut out.”

 

Thranduil was taken aback.  He had never seen Nennia cry before: she was such a strong and capable person and he wasn’t sure how to handle things.

 

“Give her a cuddle,” Thorin hissed in his ear.

 

“Oh.  Oh, yes,” he said and hesitantly put his arms around his beloved and muttered. “There, there.”

 

But Nennia just shrugged him off.  “So, who’s more important in your life, then?  Me?  Or Idris and Gilrin?” she snapped.  That was an unfair question, of course.

 

“Erm,” said Thranduil.

 

“Right, you’ve given me your answer,” Nennia sniffed and she also swept out of the room, banging the door very loudly behind her.

 

Thorin sighed.  “It’s at times like this that you lie.”

 

“You do?” said Thranduil.

 

“You do?” said Tauriel, looking at her husband through narrowed eyes.

 

“Of course you do,” replied the dwarf, “because there’s no right answer to that question.  Thranduil has definitely chosen Nennia over Idris but you can’t ask a man to choose between his child and his betrothed because they fall into two separate categories and he has a different kind of love for each of them.”

 

“Oh, Thorin,” said Thranduil, his eyes wide in wonder, “you are so wise in these matters.  I wish I understood women the way you do.”

 

And Tauriel had to grin and shake her head.  Yes, after all these years, he was learning.  But was Thranduil just softening Thorin up with his wide-eyed flattery?  Then she sat back to see how her husband was going to handle things.

 

Thorin was looking pretty smug.  And, yes, he was as soft as butter when the elven king continued:  “You are just _so_ much better than I am at these things.  Would you please speak to both the ladies for me because I really don’t know what to say?”

 

The dwarf frowned and looked as though he were about to dig his heels in and so Thranduil continued:  “If I go after them, I just know what will happen.  Idris will take Gilrin away and I shall never see her again, whilst Nennia will break off our betrothal.  _Please_ , Thorin,” he pleaded.  “You’re my best friend.”

 

Thranduil certainly knew what buttons to press: he understood Thorin better than he understood women and Tauriel had to laugh behind her hand.

 

Thorin looked grumpy for a moment and kicked a table leg.  Then: “Oh, all right – but don’t blame me if I only make things worse.”  The elven king looked relieved then hurried Thorin to the door.

 

“Be brutal,” Tauriel advised, as he made his exit.

 

Idris’ private apartments were a few corridors away and he had plenty of time to think about what he was going to say.  He didn’t have to beg for entry because she seemed really pleased to see him and she seized his arm and dragged him inside where Maeve was just putting a now placid Gilrin to bed.

 

“Could you believe that woman?” she said.  “I’m sure she was trying deliberately to get Gilrin over-excited so that she would throw a wobbler.  And Thranduil isn’t as tolerant as I am of her little ways.  She’s just trying to insinuate herself into his life and slide me and my daughter out of it.”

 

“Rubbish!” said Thorin so sharply that Idris blinked.  “I was sitting with her all the time and everything she did was at my suggestion.  Gilrin is perfectly calm now and the only person who got her upset was you.  I think you owe Nennia an apology.”

 

Idris looked shocked and burst into tears.  It was quite odd, really, thought Thorin: Idris had been such a meek, quiet woman when she was betrothed to Thranduil but, ever since her child had been born, she had turned into a tigress.  However, now and again, her submissive side showed through.

 

“Yes, I’m really horrible sometimes, Thorin.  Don’t hate me for it,” she grizzled and the dwarf put his arm about her and she snuggled into his broad chest and wiped her nose inelegantly on his velvet surcoat.  “It’s just that I’m all on my own and I get so frightened sometimes.  Gilrin really loves her daddy and it would break her heart if he rejected her once a child of Nennia’s was born,” she sniffed.

 

“I know,” said Thorin gently, “but, believe me, I understand Thranduil better than anyone – I’m his best friend, as he’s so fond of telling everyone – and I know absolutely that he will always look after you and love Gilrin.  But, you must make your peace with Nennia.  She’s going to be his wife and your daughter’s step-mother – and a very nice step-mother I’m sure she’ll make too.  That’s why you have to work together.”

 

This did not comfort her.  In fact, it made her sob even louder and Thorin desperately fished around for a pocket handkerchief before his surcoat was totally ruined.  “Blow!” he said sternly, handing one out to her.

 

She gave a trumpeting blow and then said miserably: “That’s the other thing – I’m frightened that she’ll finish up liking Nennia more than me and then I’ll lose her.”

 

“Rubbish!” snapped Thorin again.  “A step-mother can be ten times more fun than a real mother but a child will still love its own mother more.”

 

“You think so?” asked Idris pathetically.

 

“I know so,” said Thorin.  “Now let’s go and make that apology.  I’ll hold your hand, if you like,” he grinned.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and Idris managed to cajole Nennia out of her apartment  and both women were escorted back to the dining room where Idris apologised humbly; then Nennia apologised back for all the mean things she had said to her over the past few weeks.  And then they all talked about Gilrin and how best to share her.  And then both the women cried on each other’s shoulders and explained their silly anxieties to each other with a lot of interspersed ‘I know, I knows’.  And then Thranduil said: “Cheese and biscuits, anyone?”  And the others rolled their eyes.

 

“What? What did I say?” he asked.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel and Thorin set out for their own rooms just a little later.

 

“You must be very tired after all that,” said Tauriel in a concerned voice, as they reached their door.

 

“No,” was the reply.   “Getting things sorted is very satisfying and I feel quite pumped up.”

 

“Good,” said Tauriel, as she pushed him into the room, slammed the door shut and grabbed him by his braids.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“That was a good night,” grinned Thorin, closing the laptop and looking up at his wife._

_“Well, I think you really deserved it after sorting out Thranduil’s women,” laughed Tauriel.  “Quite a harem he has there with three of them fussing over him.  Gilrin will worship the ground he walks on, just you wait and see.”_

_“Do you worship the ground_ I _walk on?” he asked curiously._

_“Of course not,” she snorted, much to his disappointment.  And then she sat on his lap and wrapped her arms about his neck.  “No, definitely not the ground,” she murmured softly in his ear.  “Only that gorgeous dwarf who walks upon it.”)_

 

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A near disaster, saved only by our lovely dwarf! 
> 
> Well, next week's story is called Thorin and Thranduil's Wedding. Another disaster story, LOL?! Our lucky Thorin gets to arrange it all, but is Thranduil grateful? What do you think?


	69. Thorin and Thranduil's Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding story below was inspired by yet another suggestion from a reader! Keep up the good work, everyone! 
> 
> In today’s story, Thranduil gets to his wedding day. But, there are so many rows that you might wonder if he and Nennia will make it to the altar. Even last week’s story, Thorin and Thranduil’s Dinner Party, was such an uneasy affair that it put his relationship with Nennia on rather dodgy ground. He may still have his best friend, Thorin, to help him on his way but will our favourite dwarf cast up his hands in horror when the elven king asks him to arrange his special day?

**  
**

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s Wedding

 

Pt I

 

Thorin sighed wearily as he climbed into bed with Tauriel.  “I could really do with a good night’s sleep after all that,” he muttered.  “I hate being responsible for so many things.”

 

“Oh, go on.  Admit it,” giggled Tauriel, rolling on top of him and covering his face with kisses.  “You love it really.  So much control over a beautiful day.  Doesn’t that put you in a romantic mood?”  And she began to undo his modestly buttoned-up nightshirt.  “I know it certainly does me,” she murmured huskily.  And she wound her hands tightly around his braids and pulled him into a long and passionate – but rather one-sided – kiss.

 

Thorin lay exhausted with his eyes closed.  “I thought,” he mumbled, “that buttoning my nightshirt right up to the top of my neck would be a polite indicator of the mood I’m in.”

 

“Well, you know me,” laughed his wife.  “Never one for a hint, not where a bit of romance is concerned.”  And she kneeled astride him and stripped off her own nightgown.

 

Thorin sighed once more and opened one bleary eye.  Well, she certainly looked very nice from this angle.  In fact, she always looked nice from any angle.  And he reached up and pulled her down on top of him.  “Can’t we just have a bit of a cuddle?” he pleaded.  “I think I could manage that.”

 

“Nope,” she replied.  “Weddings always put me in the mood and that was such a lovely one.”  And she covered him in kisses again.  “Didn’t Tagrith look beautiful?  And so did Borondin.  He must be one of the most beautiful men I know.  All that lovely hair.  I bet _he’s_ not lying in bed complaining he’s too tired.”

 

“He might be,” retorted Thorin.  “After all, they now have the rest of their immortal lives together – just like us.  And I bet that Tagrith has a very sensible approach to things.”  Tauriel’s hands were beginning to wander everywhere and he wasn’t quite sure if he were irritated or not.

 

“You did such a wonderful job of organising the day,” she wheedled.  “I’m so glad they asked you.  Everything runs so smoothly when you’re in charge.”

 

“Well, it didn’t exactly involve a cast of thousands,” snorted the dwarf, but feeling secretly pleased with her praise.  No, it had been a relatively small and private affair: just the bride and groom, the Oakenshields, Ellandel, the troop from the Ered Luin outpost plus  Thranduil, Nennia, Idris and Gilrin who had been recruited as the posy girl, carrying a tiny basket of flowers but so tiny herself that she had to be carried by her father.  Elrond, of course, had officiated down at the Moot Hall and then they had all retired to Poppy’s manor house for the wedding breakfast and the celebrations.  And very nice it had been too.  But now he just wanted to sleep, thank you very much.

 

Tauriel wriggled between her husband’s thighs.  “Don’t weddings make you feel all gooey inside?” she asked.  “Because they do me.  And I’m sure that Thranduil will get married soon.  Nennia was telling me that they’re thinking of a date.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes.  “The thought of Thranduil’s wedding is enough to put even the most red-blooded dwarf off his stroke.  I can just imagine the extravagance, the exhibitionism, the spectacle, the ostentation – not to mention the arguments.  If they make it to the altar, I shall be very surprised,” he harrumphed.  But, he was beginning to think that, although not precisely gooey, his wife felt distinctly and rather attractively squidgy against his skin. 

 

She was pushing up his nightshirt to his chin now.  “Just bend your elbow a bit there, my love,” she was saying, “and push your arm through here.  That’s the way,” she whispered in a soothing manner, just as if he wouldn’t realise what she was up to.

 

“All right,” he finally laughed as she dragged the shirt over his head.  “You win.  How would you like me?”  And he spread-eagled himself on the bed.

 

“Any way I can get you,” she giggled.  And Thorin wrapped his arms around her and rolled her beneath him.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin felt even more tired when he got up the next morning.  But, it had been worth it, he grinned to himself.  However, the thought of Thranduil’s upcoming wedding was beginning to nag at him.  Better get something written, he thought, before it all goes pear-shaped.  And he brought out the laptop, writing the obvious title:

 

Thorin and Thranduil’s Wedding

 

Thorin and Tauriel were having a lovely lie-in after Tagrith and Borondin’s wedding.  It had been a tiring day; his wife had kept him up half the night indulging in more than a bit of romance and, this morning, he was feeling all cosy and cuddly as he snuggled up against her in bed.  There was no reason to get up.  Poppy was looking after all the wedding guests and she had said that people could wander in and out for a buffet breakfast anytime they fancied it.

 

“Tauriel,” he whispered, “are you awake?”  And then he gave her a little shake just to make sure.

 

“Mmm,” she said, stirring a little.  Then she rolled towards him.

 

“Success!” he grinned to himself.  And he was just in the middle of folding her in his arms when a loud knock came at the door.

 

N-o-o-o!  He didn’t believe it!  Why did this always happen?  And he climbed grumpily out of bed, flinging a robe about him as he went to check out what inconsiderate person was disturbing his love life this time.

 

Thranduil!  The elf lord swept past him without even a by-your-leave and plonked himself down at the table.

 

“Where’s the teapot?” he asked petulantly, as Tauriel came into the room.  She turned on an irritated heel and marched off into the kitchen.  “What’s wrong with you two?” he grumbled.  “You should have been up hours ago.  I honestly don’t know what you get up to in bed all night and half the morning.”

 

“Can I help you?” asked Thorin in clipped tones, sitting opposite him with folded arms.  “You’ve got 5 minutes.”

 

“That’s not even long enough to drink a cup of tea,” complained Thranduil, as Tauriel re-emerged with the pot, “let alone eat a slice of toast.”  And Tauriel banged down the tea tray and marched back into the kitchen.

 

Thranduil poured himself a mug, took a sip and gave a long sigh.

 

“I thought that Poppy was serving up breakfast this morning,” snapped Thorin.

 

“And so she is,” was the response, “but I couldn’t sit there with Nennia glaring at me across the table, could I?”

 

“Make sense,” sighed the dwarf.

 

“Well, it’ll take more than five minutes,” said the elven king.  “Especially if I have to get through a plate of toast,” he added as Tauriel plonked a stack of the buttery stuff on the table.  “What?  All for me?” he smiled up at her. 

 

“No,” she said, sitting down and looking just as bad-tempered as Thorin.

 

“My, what side of the bed did you two climb out of?” he asked.

 

“Get on with it,” Thorin snarled.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

“Well,” said Thranduil, tucking into the toast, “Nennia and I had a row in bed last night and she’s not speaking to me this morning.”

 

“Do I want to know about this?” muttered Thorin.

 

Thranduil blinked.  “Well, yes you do.  It was about our wedding, of course, and since you did such a marvellous job on yesterday’s wedding, I thought I’d let you organise mine.  And you need to know everything that’s going on, I would think.”

 

The thought of organising another wedding drained Thorin completely and he felt as though he could slide off his chair and disappear under the table.  “No,” he said firmly.

 

“No?” asked Thranduil.  “But I thought you’d be pleased with the honour.  And there’s no-one else who would do it if you don’t.”  And then the final turn of the screw: “You are my best friend, after all.”

 

Thorin groaned and buried his head in his hands.  “So, what was the argument about?” he finally asked.

 

“Go on, guess,” urged Thranduil.

 

“I’ve no idea, especially at this time of the morning,” was the crabby response.

 

“Your wedding outfits,” Tauriel suggested.

 

“Spot on,” replied the elven king.  “You’re married to a very clever woman, you know, Thorin.”

 

“Clothes!” groaned Thorin.  “Now there’s a fascinating subject.”

 

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” agreed Thranduil, his eyes brightening as he warmed to the topic.  “Now, I want to be dressed all in white – I can see it in my mind’s eye this very moment, can’t you, Thorin?”

 

“No,” said Thorin.  “Your wedding outfit is not something I spend a lot of time thinking about.”

 

“Well, I’m very surprised,” was the astonished response.  “As the organiser of my wedding, I would have thought that all these details would be at the forefront of your mind – especially since you’ll also be my supporter on the day and you’ll be dressed in a suitably matching outfit.”

 

Thorin looked aghast: “I will?  You mean, all in white too?”

 

“Of course,” said Thranduil irritably.  “Pay attention, Thorin.  You’d better not mess things up on the day.  White, embroidered with silver and with dangly crystals down the front.”

 

A powerful image swept through Thorin’s mind.  “And this is what you had the argument about?  You surprise me.”

 

“Yes, amazing, isn’t it?” agreed the elven king.  “I thought she’d be thrilled when I described it but, instead, she threw a wobbler and said that _she_ was going to be in white and that she didn’t want the emphasis to be taken off her on her big day.  I told her that I thought that white would make her look washed out and that it was only me (and you, of course) who could carry it off.”

 

“And how did she take that?”

 

“Well, would you believe it?  She lost her temper completely and kicked me out of bed.  I’ve been sleeping on the sofa all night and, this morning, I thought I’d come to you two for a bit of moral support.  Perhaps you can persuade her that’s she’s wrong.”

 

Tauriel had been sitting back enjoying this conversation and she was about to say a few words on the matter when the front door crashed open and they all turned to see a furious Nennia standing on the threshold.

 

“I just knew I’d find you here,” she said between gritted teeth.  “You always run away to find the support of your cronies whenever there’s an argument to be won.”

 

Thorin cleared his throat and held up a finger: “Erm, these two cronies here are not exactly offering him any support.”

 

Thranduil looked startled.  “Here, I say, Thorin,” he said.  “You’ve got to offer me support because, after all, you’re my _supporter_.”

 

Tauriel laughed and came to her husband’s rescue.  “Being a supporter doesn’t necessarily mean agreeing with everything; it means that he should offer you advice.”

 

“And my advice here is that you should let the bride wear white,” grinned the dwarf.

 

Thranduil rose indignantly to his feet.  “But she wants me to wear _grey – grey_ , of all things.  Can you imagine me in _grey_?”

 

“Yes,” said Thorin.

 

“Your supporter has spoken,” said Nennia, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing.  “Now, stop being naughty and do as you’re told.”  And with a toss of her head, Nennia swept from the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.

 

Thorin turned slowly towards Thranduil, expecting an angry explosion.  Instead, his eyes were shining.

 

“Isn’t she magnificent?” he said in an awed voice.  “She really knows how to give me what for.  I live in expectations of a much better time of things in bed tonight when I apologise for being a bad boy.”

 

Thorin squirmed.  “I don’t think we want to know the finer details of your love life, Thranduil,” he said.

 

“You don’t?” asked Thranduil in surprise.  “Oh, all right then.  How about another cup of tea?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thranduil and Nennia had finally settled on a date for their wedding and so stayed on at Poppy’s manor for a few days so that they could discuss things further with Thorin.  But, each day brought yet another dispute and every row sent one or the other hurrying up to the forge so that they could set out their side of the argument.

 

Thorin and Tauriel were exhausted.  “It’s all right for them,” complained Thorin as he lay in bed with his wife nestled in the crook of his arm.  “After a good fight, they go to bed and have a good – you know.  In the meantime, we fall asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow and don’t wake up until they come thundering on the door again.”

 

“I’ll be so glad when they go home,” sighed Tauriel.  “But, even then, I bet they still come galloping over to see us every time something goes wrong.  It makes one wonder if the marriage will ever take place.”

 

“Well, after all this hassle, if they show any reluctance, then I’ll drag them to the altar by their hair,” muttered her husband.

 

There was a banging at the door.

 

“Here we go again,” he groaned.

 

It was Nennia.  “What is it this time?” he asked as she huddled in a chair by the fire which Tauriel was trying to get going that cold morning.

 

“Numbers,” was the curt response.

 

“Numbers?”

 

“Yes, how big this wedding should be.  I rather like the idea of a relatively small one, like Tagrith’s.  But, Thranduil wants the whole works: absolutely enormous, with invitations sent out to just about everyone in Valinor.”  Suddenly, she burst into tears: “I just couldn’t cope.”

 

Thorin sat next to her and put his arm around her.  “Perhaps you could reach a compromise,” he said.

 

“Even if only half the guests come that Thranduil wants, it will still be several thousands too many,” she sniffed.

 

At that moment, her betrothed came marching in.  “Now look what you’ve done,” said Nennia to him, weeping even harder.  “You’ve really, really upset me.”  And she buried her face in Thorin’s comforting shoulder and clasped him around the neck.

 

“Well, dwarf,” snapped Thranduil, angry with Thorin now, “you can just unhand her this minute.  You should be satisfied that most of the women in Valinor are hanging around your neck without stealing my betrothed too.  Go on!  Let go of her!”

 

Nennia grinned quietly into Thorin’s beard.  She loved it when Thranduil came over all jealous and possessive, and she clutched Thorin to her even more tightly.

 

Thorin waved his fingers around as Nennia hung onto him.  “Look,” he said.  “No hands!  She’s just upset.”  And he began to prise the elf woman from him.

 

Thranduil sat down grumpily in the fireside chair opposite Nennia.  Tauriel quickly shoved a cup of tea at him to keep him occupied.   “All right,” she said.  “Let’s play the numbers game.”

 

A bit of bad-tempered yelling went on between the two lovers for the next five minutes and finally, Thorin held up his hand for silence.

 

“This time, I’m with Thranduil,” he said.  “And, even though I’ve got to arrange it all, I think we have to take into consideration Thranduil’s important position and that, in this instance, king and his country really do have to be invited or you’ll never hear the end of it.”  The elven king grunted in agreement.

 

“And just think,” said Tauriel softly in Nennia’s ear, “you’re going to look truly beautiful in that lovely frock that is being designed for you.  Surely you’ll want the whole world to see you on your special day?”

 

Nennia thought for a moment and then tossed her silken hair back from her face.  “All right,” she said, “I agree.  But,” she added as she rose to her feet, “such a compromise on my part isn’t bought cheaply, I’ll have you know, Thranduil, and so you’d better start thinking of ways and means of making things up to me.”  And, with her head held arrogantly aloft, she sailed out of the forge with Thranduil trotting like an obedient little dog behind her.

 

Thorin and Tauriel collapsed in gales of laughter on the sofa.

 

“Those two,” gasped Thorin.  “How did they manage to find each other?”

 

.o00o.

 

The next day, it was both of them standing shoulder to shoulder who came knocking on the door.  Thorin and Tauriel were already up and waiting for them and the table was laid for breakfast.

 

“Goodness,” said Thranduil.  “Don’t you two fancy each other any more?”

 

“Well, actually,” snapped Thorin, “we got all that nasty sex business out of the way last night so that we were ready to leap out of bed at crack of dawn just to cater to you two.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” encouraged Thranduil vaguely, patting him on the back and sitting down opposite a tempting pile of buttered crumpets.  “But, how did you know we’d be here?”

 

“Just an intelligent guess,” sighed Tauriel, pouring everyone a cup of tea.

 

“So….?” asked Thorin waiting for the shouting to start.

 

Given this opening, they both tried to explain their new problem at the same time, but, in the end, the dwarf and his wife managed to figure out that it was all about where to hold the reception.

 

“Well, I want to hold the wedding here, at the Moot Hall….” said Nennia.

 

“And I want to hold it at my palace…..” responded Thranduil.

 

“…because my uncle, Ellandel, runs the Moot Hall and can help……”

 

“…..because it’s beautiful and spacious and will supply a fitting setting…..”

 

“….and this is where I feel comfortable because it’s my home….”

 

“….it’s my home, of course, where I live and feel happiest…..”

 

“…and my friends all live in the area……”

 

“….and my son, Legolas, lives there as does my daughter, Gilrin…..”

 

“…..and you’re just up the hill, Thorin, and so it makes it convenient for you…..”

 

“…..and I won’t have to drag a baby for miles to the Moot Hall, like I had to do for Tagrith’s wedding…”

 

“….and the wedding’s always held in the bride’s area…..”

 

“….and sometimes it’s best to break with conventions rather than be forced to do something inappropriate….”

 

And so it went on until both parties were really hot and bothered.

 

“S-t-o-p!” yelled Thorin in the end.  And everyone turned towards him politely to listen to his opinion.

 

“Now,” he said slowly, “my biggest concern about the Moot Hall is that it just isn’t big enough to entertain all these people who will be invited.  Thranduil’s palace is much larger and he has a huge Hall of Ceremonies.”

 

Nennia’s lip trembled.  “It seems so unfair that he’s going to get his way and I shan’t get mine.”

 

“Well,” said Thranduil, trying to think of a positive, “my palace is a lot closer to Gandalf’s country home in the hills where we’re going to spend our honeymoon.  Doesn’t that count?”  He turned to the other two: “Gandalf is vacating his home for a week so that we can spend our time there.”

 

Remembering the untidy mess that was Gandalf’s home when they had stayed there on a second honeymoon, Thorin grimaced.  “Yes, very nice of him,” he said.

 

Nennia wasn’t convinced: “That’s just one tiny positive in the middle of a load of negatives,” she grumbled.  “And it still means that you get your way and I don’t.”

 

“Well,” grinned Thorin.  “What if neither of you get your way?  Is that fairer?”  And they both slowly nodded.  Then Thorin suggested that they used Elrond’s palace which was a lot more spacious even than Thranduil’s and was equally close to Gandalf’s home.  “And, since Elrond is always travelling all over the place to marry people, it will be nice if he can just stay put for a change.”

 

Everyone smiled.  What a good idea!  “But you took some time pulling your finger out and coming up with a solution,” Thranduil snorted.  “All our arguments could have drawn to a sensible conclusion a lot sooner if only you had thought a bit more quickly.”  And taking a last swig of tea, he turned to Nennia and said: “Come on, my love.  Let’s go back to bed for a few hours.  It’s all Thorin’s fault that we’ve been up half the night.”  And, with a roll of his eyes, he escorted his betrothed from the room.

 

“Well!!” exclaimed Tauriel.  “ _Well_!”  And she was totally lost for words.

 

But Thorin just grinned and said: “Good idea, that,”

 

“What idea?” asked his wife.

 

“Going back to bed for a few hours.”  And he scooped Tauriel up in his arms and returned with her to the bedroom.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The day of the wedding dawned and it was a beautiful spring morning.  Elrond had been very amenable about opening his home to thousands of guests and Thorin’s family were all waking up in very nice rooms in one of the wings of his palace.  This lovely home also contained an enormous Hall of Ceremonies and Thorin and Tauriel  were soon down there to make sure that it was all being prepared appropriately with lots of flowers.  It was certainly beginning to look very beautiful as a whole host of elves busied themselves about the hall and the couple felt that, at least this would provide a very lovely setting for the wedding whatever else went wrong.

 

Then they dashed back to their own room to get themselves ready and, after that, Thorin made his way along the corridor to give his support to Thranduil whilst Tauriel went to help the bride get dressed.

 

A few hours later and the Hall was absolutely packed; the rest of the Oakenshield family waited in trepidation, hoping that, after all of Thorin’s efforts, the day would pass off smoothly.  Then the trumpets sounded in order to call everyone to attention, an elven choir began to sing in sweet harmonies and Thranduil, escorted by Thorin, finally entered the room.

 

Yes, a wedding certainly made you feel all gooey inside, thought Poppy.  Sauntering down between the ranks of guests came her father and the elven king: they must be two of the best-looking men in Valinor, she thought.  They were dressed in exquisite outfits made of grey silk and embroidered in silver.  Nennia had been absolutely right in her choice of colour for them because they looked so very fine and the crowds, agreeing in this assessment, applauded them.

 

The song came to an end and the choir started on another one.  Now all eyes turned expectantly towards the great double doors which swung open to admit the bride, her flower maiden, Tauriel, (a long way past being a ‘maiden’, grinned Tauriel to herself) who cast flowers before her as she walked happily towards her husband-to-be, and Gilrin, performing her services once more as the posy girl but this time being carried by her mother because both Thranduil and Nennia had thought it would be nice to get Idris involved.

 

The bride was dressed in the most spectacular white silk gown, drenched in lace and glittery bits and she looked so beautiful that the crowd couldn’t take their eyes off her – and neither could Thranduil for that matter.  Tauriel, Gilrin and Idris wore silken gowns of the deepest pink and Thorin found that his eyes quite easily slid away from Nennia in all her glory to rest on his beautiful wife.  The wedding guests burst into heartfelt cheers and applause.

 

Thorin stepped forward and escorted Nennia to the Great Table, the altar to Eru, where Elrond and Thranduil were standing and he placed her hand in that of her betrothed.  Then, stepping back, he stood next to Tauriel, his face wreathed in smiles.  “It was all worth it,” he whispered to his wife, “as long as Thranduil doesn’t pass out.  He’s in a bit of a state.”

 

But, although pale, Thranduil managed to get through the whole ceremony gracefully and, when the couple finally kissed, the entire room erupted.

 

The feasting afterwards went on for hours in the huge Dining Hall and Thorin was congratulated by many of the guests on a job well done.  In fact, a number of the elves came up to him and asked if he could arrange their weddings too.  And Thorin agreed jovially because he was a bit drunk.  (He regretted it in the morning when he awoke with a thumping head.)

 

Later that day, the newly-weds set off on white horses for Gandalf’s home in the mountains.  The wizard was staying with Elrond for the week and Tauriel had made absolutely sure that his rather nice but messy home had been cleared and tidied up when she escorted a whole gang of cleaners to the house and supervised the operation herself.  (Afterwards, Gandalf complained that he couldn’t find a thing.)  She made sure that the pantry was stocked with food and the shed was full of fuel.  A couple of servants, well known for their ability to work with invisible efficiency, were left behind to sleep above the stables and to do as much – or as little - as was required once the happy couple turned up.

 

When the pair had finally disappeared over the hill, Tauriel collapsed on Thorin’s shoulder with a great sigh.  “Thank goodness that’s all over,” she said.

 

“I thought you loved a wedding,” her husband laughed.

 

“Yes and no,” she answered with a smile.  “But now, I think we both deserve a really early night.”

 

“Yes, I could do with a good night’s sleep,” teased Thorin with a grin.

 

“Oh – you!” she said, slapping his wrist.

 

And, giggling quietly to themselves, they hurried off to their room.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“My, that was lovely,” whispered Tauriel in Thorin’s ear as she leaned over his shoulder._

_“Are you talking about the wedding or the night we spent together afterwards?” asked Thorin._

_“What do you think?” she grinned._

_“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about the rather spectacular time in bed you spent with me,” was his laughing response.  “Nothing could have been lovelier than that.”_

_“No,” she said quietly, nibbling his ear.  “Nothing could be lovelier than a night with my gorgeous husband.”_

_And he stood up and gently kissed her.  “Let’s create a few more happy memories,” he said.  And he wrapped her in his arms and led her to his bed.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I love a wedding too, don’t you? I hope that brought you all a lot of fun and pleasure. 
> 
>  
> 
> Next week’s story, which just might be the last for a month or so, is called: Thorin and the Accident. This was suggested by yet another regular follower, who wondered how the situation might have turned out if it had been Thorin who had lost his memory and not Tauriel. And so, at the risk of repeating myself (although I shan’t, because Thorin’s reaction is very different) I have written a companion piece to Thorin and his Wife.


	70. Thorin and the Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking I have got to my last story - and then I write another one. People are still sending me suggestions which sometimes I bounce around but don’t make much progress with, even when I think it is a good idea and in the spirit of the series. Surfin’ Thorin, anyone? Thorin and the Flying Machine? There are a couple of ideas that might stretch to full-blown stories and which will suddenly pop up on your screens in a few months’ time. Thank you, everyone, for your interest and input.
> 
>  
> 
> This week, I have written another story based on a suggestion from a reader. She wanted to know what would have happened if Thorin and not Tauriel had lost their memory, as in a previous story, Thorin and his Wife. Yes, I thought, reactions would have been different, from both of them. So, here is a companion piece – a slightly more dramatic story after all the joy and fun of Thorin and Thranduil’s Wedding last week.

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin and the Accident

 

Pt I

 

Tauriel was sitting up in bed with her arms folded crossly.  “I just don’t like it, Thorin.  It’s been bothering me for weeks and I want you to do something about it.”

 

Thorin sighed and stroked his wife’s thigh suggestively.  “Well, I’m not sure what, my love – although I could help you to forget all about it, I suppose.”  And his hand slid hopefully higher up her thigh.

 

Tauriel ignored him.  “Nothing will make me forget that horrible story,” she snapped.  “Losing my memory was a pretty awful experience.  You and that wretched laptop wrote that story between you and so I suggest that you and the laptop put it right.”

 

“It made me write it,” said Thorin plaintively.

 

“That’s what they all say,” snorted Tauriel in reply.  “I don’t want any more excuses – I just want the whole situation rectified.”

 

“All I tried to do,” muttered the dwarf, “was write a lovely story about digging a garden for you.  Was it my fault that you tripped over those rocks and banged your head?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t mine,” she replied grumpily.  And, then, in a silly voice, she whined:  “The laptop made me do it.”

 

“Oh, shush, my love,” said Thorin firmly.  “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”  And trying to retrieve a bit of masculine control, he pulled her down onto the pillow and began showering her face with kisses.

 

Tauriel placed a finger firmly over his lips.  “This isn’t the answer,” she said sternly.  “The obvious thing to do is for you to delete that story and then to rewrite it in order to fill in the gap that will subsequently be created in time.  And, if you delete it, I can’t remember it any more, can I?”

 

Thorin sucked the offending finger into his mouth and thought about it for a moment.  Then: “Are you sure that’s what will happen?  We’ve never tried deleting anything before.”

 

In response, Tauriel sucked one of Thorin’s fingers into her mouth and worked on it until he was wriggling in delight.  “All right,” he gasped.  “I’ll try.  But don’t blame me if it all goes wrong.”

 

The elf gave him a wicked grin over the top of his knuckle and then she released the finger.  She always knew how to get her way.  “When?” she asked.

 

“Tomorrow, at breakfast?” he suggested.   And when she frowned: “Well, I’m not exactly going to do it tonight, am I?”

 

“Why not?” she grumbled.

 

“Because,” said her husband in a forceful, manly way, “I’ve much better things to do with my time tonight.”  And he rolled her beneath him and demonstrated all the ‘better things’ he could think of that were in his repertoire.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin was very tired the next morning.  But, as usual, it had been worth it.  Perhaps Tauriel had now forgotten that silly idea of hers about deleting the memory-loss story.  It would be very useful if she could, in fact, just lose her memory on _this_ one and then they could all be happy.

 

But, no.  The very first moment that she stirred, she was up and out of bed.   “Come on, Thorin,” she said.  But, her husband just wriggled further down into the warmth of the feather mattress.

 

“Too tired,” he muttered grumpily.

 

“Well, whose fault is that?” she replied tartly.  And, before he could stop her, she had grasped the coverlet and whisked it away to lie on the floor.

 

Thorin gave a groan, shut his eyes tightly for a few seconds and counted to three.  Then, with an immense effort, he lifted himself from the bed and wrapped himself in the velvet dressing-gown that Bilbo had given him for his last birthday.

 

“There’s a good lad,” said Tauriel encouragingly.  “Now, you just get out the laptop whilst I make us some breakfast.”

 

Thorin staggered to the dining table and pulled out the laptop.  Then he stared blearily at _Thorin and his Wife._  “Go on, delete it,” said Tauriel, peering over his shoulder.

 

“Are you sure?” asked Thorin.  But Tauriel had lost patience and, stretching out her hand, she banged on the delete key.  There was a strange, fuzzy sensation, you know, like when you’re about to say something and suddenly you can’t remember what it was.

 

“Erm,” said Thorin.  “What was I about to do?”

 

“Write a new story?” asked Tauriel, pointing uncertainly towards the keyboard.  “I’ll just make us breakfast whilst you think about it.”  And she wandered vaguely out of the room.

 

Thorin, for the life of him, couldn’t think what title he had been ready to type in.  And so he decided to play it safe:  _Thorin has a Nice Day_ , he typed.  But, apart from the word _Thorin_ , the rest refused to appear.  Then he tried _Thorin Meets with Success,_ but, again, only the word _Thorin_ appeared on the screen.  He tried a few others: _Thorin and Tauriel Have a Romantic Evening, Thorin Impresses Thranduil_ and _Thorin is Voted Valinor’s Most Popular Inhabitant_ : but, the laptop persistently refused to cooperate.

 

“All right,” he muttered, casting up his hands.  “You win.  What’s the title?”  And the words: _Thorin has an Accident_ appeared.  “Well, it had better not hurt too much,” he said grumpily.  “I’m not in the mood for pain.”  And, led by the laptop, Thorin bent over the machine and began to type.

 

Thorin has an Accident

 

Thorin finished his breakfast and looked out at the day.  It was a chilly one but the sun was shining brightly.  Just the sort of day for a nice spot of gardening, he thought.

 

“I’m just going out for a bit of a dig,” he shouted through to Tauriel.

 

“Oh, good,” she shouted back.  “Are you going to extend that vegetable patch?”

 

“Mmm,” he replied noncommittally, but he grinned into his beard because he was planning to create a lovely garden for her.

 

But, the problem was, the plot was full of rocks and stones – some quite large – which he decided to set to one side for a rockery.  And so, he stripped off his shirt and set to with enthusiasm.

 

A couple of hours later, Tauriel came out with a hot drink for him. She paused at the edge of the piece of ground he was tackling and blew him an appreciative wolf-whistle.  Thorin looked up and grinned but, as he saw her advance with the mug, he called to her: “Mind that pile of rocks - I’ll come to you.”  And he threw down his spade and hurried towards her.   Sensibly, Tauriel paused and waited for him to take the mug from her.  Thorin was still grinning at his wife as he made for the pile of stones and perhaps that was why he forgot about the rake that lay abandoned on the ground.  And, before she could shout a warning, he had trodden heavily on the tines and the strong handle flipped up and struck him forcibly between the eyes.

 

.o00o.

 

He staggered backwards and fell with a groan upon the grass.  Tauriel shouted “Thorin!” and, casting the mug to one side, she leapt over the pile of rocks and was immediately at his side.  He was clutching his head and moaning on the ground.  Tauriel tried to support him, but his eyes rolled up in their sockets and he seemed only partially conscious.  She looked wildly around her and, seeing Bilbo walking down the hill, she shouted for help and the little hobbit came running towards her. 

 

“I’ll go and fetch someone,” he said and he hastened away.  Within minutes, he was back with Arion.

 

“Come on, mother,” said Arion reassuringly.  I’m sure we can get him to the house between us.  All he needs is his bed and a cold compress.”  Tauriel was a strong woman and she and her son managed to get their shoulders underneath Thorin’s armpits and they half carried, half dragged him the short distance to the forge with Bilbo fussing along behind them.  With a final heave they hoisted him onto his bed and Bilbo fetched a bowl of cold water and a rag. 

 

Tauriel sat by her husband’s side and held the cold compress to his swollen forehead where a lump the size of a pigeon’s egg was slowly emerging.  Arion gave her a hug.  “You know how tough he is, mother.  Dwarves are made of stone.  He’ll be fine, never you fear.”  But, although Thorin didn’t appear to be completely unconscious, he was certainly not quite with them in the room but tossed his head and groaned and swore under his breath.

 

“Shall I go for the physician?” asked Bilbo worriedly.

 

“I’m not quite sure,” Arion replied.  “It’s only a bump on the head and, after a bit of a sleep, I expect he’ll be alright.”

 

Tauriel bit her lip and didn’t know what to do for the best.  It seemed a waste of time to drag the physician all the way up here and possibly away from serious cases for such a minor injury.  And Thorin was so tough!  He’d probably be furious if they made too much of a fuss.  And so, between the three of them, they got him undressed and into his nightshirt with the semi-conscious dwarf resisting them all the way.  He struggled and pushed their hands away until Tauriel said in a firm voice: “Now, stop it Thorin.  We’re only trying to help.”  And then he subsided and meekly accepted their ministrations.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

A worried Poppy turned up a bit later and they all took it in turns to bathe his forehead and help him take sips of water.  He even managed to talk to them a little: “Go ‘way,” he muttered.  “Le’ me sleep.”  And, in the end, they left him alone to doze.

 

“He’s just getting irritated with us,” said Poppy.  “Perhaps he’s right and we should just let him sleep it off.”  And they made Tauriel retire to the sitting-room where they cooked her a meal and made her cups of tea until the evening came on.  In the end, Tauriel shooed them all away.  “Come back in the morning,” she said, “and see how he’s doing then.  Now just go home.  There’s nothing much you can do at the moment.”  And, rather reluctantly, they did as they were told.

 

By the time that Tauriel was undressed and ready for bed, Thorin seemed to be in a deep and natural sleep and the elf felt confident that all would be well come the morning.  She got gingerly into bed and pulled her husband gently onto his side so that his great head could rest on her soft and comfortable bosom and then she went to sleep. 

 

.o00o.

 

Just before the first grey light of dawn began to filter into the room, Thorin awoke with a splitting head.  He groaned and tried to remember what group of dwarves he must have been drinking with the previous night to have produced such a belter as this.  But, although he racked his brains, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had been doing, where and with whom.  I bet it was Dwalin, he thought.  His old friend could really hold his drink and was always encouraging Thorin to keep up with him – to seriously detrimental effects.

 

Then he dragged his mind painfully back to the present.  Where was he?  This didn’t feel like his narrow cot in his forge at the crossroads.  This was big enough to be a double bed at an inn.  The Grey Havens?  The Mithril Crown, perhaps?  And, he suddenly thought with a shock, he wasn’t alone.  Another dwarf, was his first reaction.  He and his companions would sometimes share beds if an inn were full.  But his bedmate was not muscular and hairy but slender and smooth.  Not a dwarf then.

 

He tried to peer into the gloom but could make out very little.  He had to admit  that, apart from the headache, he was feeling warm and comfortable, his cheek resting on something soft and squishy  and a light coverlet pulled up to his chin.  He felt around a bit and his hand came into contact with what seemed to be long, silken hair.  Thorin froze.  As his awareness began to creep back, there came the growing realisation that he was in bed not with a male drinking companion but with a woman!  And the squishy thing was a breast!

 

For a moment, he couldn’t move.  Dwarves were chaste….weren’t they?  They didn’t bed anyone until they were betrothed.  Although… and his thoughts suddenly skittered hither and thither……sometimes dwarven friends would organise, as a bit of a joke, for a drunken companion to wake up with a lady of the night in his bed, sometimes as a special treat and sometimes to break him in, so to speak, for the real thing.  That was just the sort of joke that his companions would find hilarious and he wouldn’t put it past them.

 

The good, decent, morally upright part of Thorin wanted to jump out of bed with a whole stream of apologies on his lips.  But the earthy, sensuous, curious part of him began to wonder if anything had already happened….and, if it had, well, then, the horse was already out of the stable and shutting the door behind it seemed like a waste.  Perhaps he should just take full advantage of the ‘gift’ that his friends had organised for him.

 

Hardly able to breathe from the excitement of this unexpected situation, Thorin began to touch the woman carefully.  This was a totally new experience and it was even more erotic than he expected it to be.   She was wearing a nightgown of some flimsy material and this had risen up around her waist.  Thorin cautiously stroked the smooth skin of her thigh and, as he ran his hand up her leg to her hip, he couldn’t help but let out a voluptuous sigh.  Then he clamped his lips tightly together.  Such lewd behaviour really wasn’t something worthy of a prince of Erebor but the temptation to give in to his desires was too strong and he gently found her lips, then lightly brushed his own against them.

 

Then she woke up.  He could see her eyes shining in the darkness and almost expected her to pull away, but she murmured “Thorin!” in a beautifully musical voice which he found irresistible.  Well, at least she knows my name, he thought.  Then her arm slipped around his neck and she drew him into a passionate kiss.  Thorin was lost.  He could resist no longer and, for the next hour, he surprised even himself at how much seemed to come so naturally in the business of love-making.  The woman must have tremendous skill and art in making her first-time customer feel so confident and at ease, Thorin thought drowsily as he slid quietly back to sleep again.

 

.o00o.

 

When he woke once more, light was streaming into the bedroom and Thorin saw his bed partner properly for the first time – and he nearly leaped from the bed in horror: her slender form, her straight, shining hair, her pointy ears all indicated that she was neither dwarf nor human but an elf!  Unbelievable!  A dwarf and an elf in bed together…..and he had…..and they had…..  Thorin screwed up his eyes and winced at the thought of what they had done.  No, impossible!  Had she made a mistake too in the dark?  But even the darkness couldn’t disguise his beard and his hairy body.  Under no circumstances could she have mistaken him for an elf.

 

He waited for her to cry out in disgust but, instead, she gave him the most beautiful smile, took his face between her hands and kissed him deeply again.   She was the most exquisite creature and Thorin found himself responding once more.

 

“How are you feeling this morning?” she murmured against his throat.

 

“Much better for being in bed with you,” he replied softly.  And, to tell the truth, his headache was beginning to fade, although his memory still seemed clouded and confused.  She laughed and looked pleased, then kissed him again.

 

“Well, are you going to tell me your name?” he asked as he breathlessly drew apart from her.  “You seem to know mine.”

 

The elf suddenly stilled.  “What do you mean – you don’t know my name?” she asked.  “Of course you know my name.”

 

“Well, I might have known it before I got drunk last night,” he said hesitantly, “but now everything’s a blur and I don’t remember a thing.  Perhaps you can help me out there.”

 

There was silence for a moment and then she suddenly asked: “Where are we?”

 

“In the Grey Havens?” he responded.  “But that’s a guess.”

 

Another silence.  Then: “And who do you think I am?  At a guess,” she asked sharply.

 

“Well,” he replied cautiously, not wanting to give offence, “well, since you’re in bed with me and I’ve never seen you before in my life, I – umm – I imagined that my friends – umm – hired you to – umm – give me a good time.”

 

At this, she seized him by one of his braids, yanked him into a half-sitting position and back-handed him across the face.  “How dare you!” she shouted.  “You – you – _dwarf_!”

 

Thorin dropped back dazed upon the pillow and watched her uncomprehendingly as she jumped from the bed and, flinging a robe around herself, ran crying from the room.  Feeling more confused than ever, Thorin shouted after her: “You were very good, you know.  There won’t be any complaints – so don’t worry on that score!”  At which she marched back furiously into the room and slapped him around the face again.

 

“How _dare_ you!” she cried.  “How _dare_ you make love to me when you don’t even know who I am!  How immoral is that?!”

 

“Well,” snapped Thorin, his anger growing along with his confusion, “who _are_ you, then?”

 

She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at him.  But, even so, he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was.  Her next words came as a totally unexpected shock.

 

“I’m your wife, Tauriel.  We have been married for years and years.  We have two children and one granddaughter and we all moved from your forge at the crossroads to the Undying Lands a long time ago.”  And, with that, she burst into violent tears again.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thorin sat up in bed, shocked and bemused.  His head was throbbing again and he had not the faintest idea what she was talking about.  But, at the same time, when he looked at the sobbing Tauriel, he had an overwhelming urge to comfort her.  And he slid from the bed and wrapped her in his arms.  She wept even harder and, holding onto him tightly, she buried her face in his broad chest and wiped her nose on his nightshirt.  Thorin felt a powerful tenderness as though he had witnessed this scene many times before – and yet she was a stranger to him.

 

Lostwithiel came into the house at that moment to find Tauriel crying inconsolably in Thorin’s arms.  “Hey, what’s all this then?” he grinned.  “I thought you were ill, Thorin.”  And Tauriel immediately let go of her husband and rushed over to the elf where she cast herself upon his breast instead.

 

“He’s lost his memory,” she wailed.  “He doesn’t know who I am.”

 

Thorin felt a powerful sexual jealousy roar through.  Who was this tall, good-looking elf who was now holding Tauriel in his arms?  She was supposed to be _his_ wife.  And he had the overwhelming urge to punch him on the nose. “Get your hands off her!” he snarled, as he snatched Tauriel away from him, and Lostwithiel looked startled.  It had been years since Thorin had behaved so aggressively towards him.

 

Tauriel gave her husband a shove in the chest and snapped angrily: “For goodness’ sake, Thorin, he’s your son-in-law!”  And, at that moment, Poppy and Arion arrived at the house and Thorin met his son and his daughter as if for the first time.

 

Thorin flopped down in a chair with his head in his hands and a concerned Lostwithiel whispered to Tauriel: “Be kind to him.   It’s Thorin who’s lost his memory, not you.  I’m sure if your positions were reversed, he’d be doing his best to help you.”

 

“You’re right,” Tauriel replied, sniffing and blowing her nose.  “I’m being a bit horrible.  But it’s because this has been such a shock and I feel really frightened.” 

 

And then she knelt down by Thorin’s chair and took him gently by the hand.  “You’ll be alright,” she said quietly.  “The family is here to look after you and it will all be sorted out in the end.”  Thorin looked up at her with a pitifully lost expression in his eyes and she was moved to lean forward and kiss him tenderly on the cheek.

 

Then Lostwithiel went to fetch the physician because the situation had become more serious, whilst Tauriel made Thorin a nice, comforting, hot drink.   He drank it rather distractedly and, all the time, his eyes followed Tauriel around the room.  How could he possibly have forgotten that this beautiful creature was his wife?  And he couldn’t rid his mind of the time they had spent together in bed early that morning.  Such erotic thoughts then made him wonder how many more hours needed to pass before he could suggest that they got back into bed with each other again.

 

.o00o.

 

The physician came but they moved no further forward because he had no idea if or when Thorin would remember anything again.  “Don’t fuss him too much,” he said, “and try to keep things normal.”   And then he was gone.

 

But what was ‘normal’?  Should he be encouraged to dig his garden or do a bit of work in the forge?  Could he even be trusted with tools or a furnace?  Did he still remember how to use them?  But, careful and gentle questioning revealed that he had lost none of his skills, only a great chunk of his memory.  What he did remember, only stretched as far as his time in Ered Luin, when he worked at his forge at the crossroads; but it stopped before that fateful evening when Tauriel had passed by, seeking the help of a smith because her horse had lost a shoe.

 

And so, Mary Sue, who had learned various smithing skills from Thorin, took him into the forge for a few hours and working there seemed to calm him.  Tauriel popped in and out with food and drinks and Thorin found it really pleasing when she leaned close to him to admire his work where he could smell the perfume of her skin and feel her hair brushing his bared shoulder.  She really stirred him but he still found it quite remarkable that the only woman who had ever had this effect on him – as far as he remembered - was an elf.

 

He made Tauriel a pretty gold slide for her hair and, when he presented it to her shyly, she gave him a lovely smile and a soft peck on the cheek.  “It’s beautiful,” she said.  “You’re as skilful as you ever were.”

 

“But, I would that my poor gift were half as beautiful as the recipient,” replied Thorin, doing his best to match what he believed was the flowery eloquence of the elves.  But Tauriel looked a bit uncomfortable: such words didn’t sit right in the mouth of her dwarven husband and it was small things like this that made her feel that Thorin was different from the dwarf he used to be.

 

She nodded briefly and made her exit, leaving Thorin to touch his burning cheek where her lips had brushed him there, as if he had been branded with a hot tool from the forge.

 

 

.o00o.

 

Later that day, Tauriel suggested that he get on with his gardening and she came outside and leaned on the fence so that she could watch him.  She saw him about to take off his shirt, but then he hesitated.  “Will you find me offensive if I strip off?” he asked.

 

She looked puzzled.  “Offensive?  Why would I find you offensive?”

 

He squirmed on the spot for a little and then said:  Well, it’s my tattoos and – er - piercings.  I thought that elves found such things disgusting.”  The very last thing he wanted to do was repulse her.

 

Tauriel laughed her delightful laugh – he must try to make her do that more often – and replied:  “I’ve grown to really like your body art, my love.  You wouldn’t be my Thorin without it.”

 

Thorin squirmed a bit more but this was because he really liked the way she called him ‘my love’ and ‘my Thorin’.  It somehow made him feel very shy.   And, as casually as he could under the circumstances, he took off his shirt and began digging.  He was very aware of her appreciative gaze upon him – it was really quite arousing – and, yet again, he wondered how much longer it would be before he could climb back into bed with her.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin spent the afternoon in the garden and then Tauriel called him in for an evening meal, after which the family turned up and regaled him with stories of his past life, hoping that something would ring a bell.

 

He tried hard to absorb what they were saying but he just wished they would go away so that he and Tauriel could go to bed.  In the end, he gave a deliberate yawn.  “Oh, dear,” said Poppy.  “You must be exhausted, father.”  Then she turned to the others: “I think that’s enough for tonight.  We should go and let father have some rest.”  And to his rather gleeful satisfaction, they all gave him a hug and traipsed off to their homes.

 

All he had been able to think about during the course of the day was the intimacy between him and Tauriel the previous night.  It had been like nothing else he had experienced: she was his first woman and it had been wonderful.  Now all he wanted was an action replay.  And so, as she pottered around, tidying up in the kitchen, he stripped himself naked and leaped into bed.  Tauriel found him there, sitting up with an expectant grin on his face, and she stopped abruptly in the doorway.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

 

“Looking at the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he replied, “and waiting for her to come to bed with me.”

 

Tauriel just stared at him and his grin widened.  “I thought you could show me another good time,” he said, “after that epic bout last night.”

 

Her lips tightened in disapproval at his words.  “I’m afraid,” she said coldly, “that I’m expecting you to sleep on the sofa.”  And she walked to the cupboard and produced a pillow and a coverlet.

 

“But I’m your husband,” Thorin blinked.  “We belong in bed together.”

 

“Not until you remember who you are,” was the response.  “At the moment, I am little more than a stranger to you nor do I recognise you as the dwarf I married.  It would be wrong of us to share a bed under such circumstances.”

 

Feeling thwarted and frustrated, Thorin could see his opportunity for a ‘good time’ slipping away from him and the smile disappeared from his face.  “I’m your husband,” he repeated, “and I demand my rights.”

 

Tauriel shook her head in disbelief.  No, this definitely wasn’t _her_ Thorin.  “The only right you have,” she snapped, “is the right to sleep on the sofa.”  And she flung the bed linen at him.

 

Thorin thought about his next move but when he saw the fierce look in her eyes, he grabbed the pillow and sullenly got out of bed and, without any attempt to disguise his nakedness, he stomped from the room, muttering under his breath and slamming the door behind him.

 

He had looked so beautiful, thought Tauriel, as he stood in the glow of the lamplight, and she had wanted nothing more than to clasp him in her arms and take him to her bed because she had an overwhelming desire to give him the best time he had ever had.  She missed him so much but one of them had to be strong and it obviously wasn’t going to be Thorin.  And she curled up on the bed and wept quietly into her pillow.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Out on the sofa, a disgruntled Thorin tossed and turned for hours thinking of all that he was missing.  She was being so unfair!  He was her husband and he had lost his memory.  Surely he deserved to be shown a little bit of kindness in her bed?  But, she obviously wasn’t going to welcome him there until he regained his memory.  And who knew when that would happen?  Then he stiffened as an idea floated into his brain.  He ran through all the stories that his children had told him of his past life and tried to commit them to memory.  Yes!  If he were careful, he was sure he could pull this off.

 

Quietly, in the darkness, he opened the bedroom door.  He let a little firelight filter in from the sitting-room and he could see Tauriel curled up asleep in bed.  Then he carefully slid in beside her and put his arm about her.  She was instantly awake.  “What are you doing here?” she hissed.  But, before she could kick him out, he murmured in a tender and emotional voice (he really ought to go on the stage): “Tauriel, I remember.  I woke up a few minutes ago and I remember everything.”

 

For a moment, she believed him.  A joyful look (which made him feel a bit guilty) came into her face and she threw her arms about him.  “You remember?  You really remember?” she cried.  And Thorin found himself thoroughly enjoying the feel of her silken skin pressed against his own.

 

“Yes, my darling, I really do!”

 

First mistake.

 

Tauriel drew back from him.  Thorin had never in his whole life called her ‘my darling’.

 

“What have I got on my right buttock?” she asked abruptly.

 

“What?” asked Thorin, rather startled.  And Tauriel repeated the question.

 

Ah, he thought, she was suspicious and he ran through all the possibilities in his head.  A scar?  A birthmark?  A boil?  In the end, he decided on a scar but, as soon as he said this, she brought up a lithely muscled leg against his stomach and pushed him out of bed.

 

“Liar!” she shouted.  “Now just get out!”

 

Thorin picked himself up off the floor and stood angrily by the bed.  “Out!” she repeated, pointing to the door.  “And only come back when you can remember what’s on my right buttock!”  He stood fidgeting uncertainly on the spot for a moment.  Then he kicked the bedpost – which hurt – and finally made his exit from the room.  He threw himself down on the sofa and slept badly until morning.

 

Back in her bedroom, Tauriel had another little weep into her pillow.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin woke up first just as the dawn was breaking.  He felt really hungry and so he went for a poke around in the kitchen.  By the time that Tauriel was up and dressed and had entered the dining room, he had the table neatly laid out with a white cloth, some nice china and a vase of pretty wild flowers gathered from just outside the front door.  Tea and thickly buttered toast were already set out and she could smell something more substantial cooking in the kitchen.

 

She stood there in surprise and, for a moment, wondered if Thorin actually had regained his memory in the night because this was just the sort of thing that he did on many mornings.  “What’s this all about?” she asked, gesturing at the table.

 

Thorin looked down at his feet.  “A sort of apology, I suppose,” he muttered.  And then he looked up with a grin on his face.  “And I was really hungry too.”  She smiled back at him and he pulled out a chair for her, after which, he served up a truly delicious repast.  Yet another skill he hadn’t forgotten, she thought.

 

They chatted quietly together about what he intended to do with his time that day and Thorin noticed that her hair was pinned back with his slide.  Things felt almost ‘normal’.  But, just as they were finishing, they heard a sharp knock, the door was thrown open and Thranduil strode in.  Thorin’s brows immediately snapped together in a dark frown.

 

“How’s it going, Thorin?” asked the elf.  “Don’t remember anything, I hear.”

 

Thorin rose slowly to his feet as Tauriel ran over to the elven king and whispered quickly in his ear.  Then Thranduil put an arm around her waist and, kissing her on the brow, murmured quietly: “Don’t worry.  I understand.”

 

Well, he didn’t understand well enough, it would appear, because his presence and his manner were provocative.  All that Thorin remembered was that Thranduil was his worst enemy and here he stood, in his house, kissing his wife!  An uncontrollable jealousy washed through him and, casting aside his chair, he grabbed Tauriel by the arm and spun her away from the person he hated most in the world.

 

“Don’t ever touch my wife again!” he snarled, his face inches from Thranduil’s own.  The elven king stood blinking at him and Tauriel tried to place a calming hand on Thorin’s shoulder which he immediately shrugged off.  Then he seized Thranduil by the collar and pushed him hard against the wall.  “I could kill you, elf,” he growled, “right now, right this minute, for all you have done to me.”

 

Thranduil looked shocked and held up fluttering hands.  “Now, look here, Thorin,” he protested, “that was all a long time ago.  We’re best friends now, don’t you know, and you were my supporter at my wedding.”

 

“Then, I must have grown into a fool,” continued Thorin angrily and he gave Thranduil’s collar a vicious twist so that the elf began to choke.  There was no reasoning with him and Thranduil, casting a quick, apologetic look at Tauriel, brought up his fist and gave Thorin a powerful punch on the chin.  The dwarf immediately collapsed on the floor.  “Sorry, Tauriel,” said Thranduil, “but I had no choice.”  Tauriel gave him an understanding nod and knelt down by her husband’s side.

 

“You’d better go,” she said.  “If he finds you still here when he wakes up, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

 

Thranduil sighed.  “I’ll go and stay with Poppy and Lostwithiel,” he said.  “I’m there if you want me.”

 

Tauriel fetched a bowl of cold water and began to dab Thorin’s forehead for the second time in as many days.  Slowly, he began to open his eyes.  They were endlessly blue and they searched her face.  “Tauriel,” he whispered, “I remember.”

 

His wife looked uncertainly at him.  “I truly do remember, my love,” he repeated slowly.  “It’s a tattoo and it says ‘Thorin’.”  Tauriel began to weep.  Her husband had been returned to her and he had named correctly what she had on her right buttock.  She kissed him tenderly and her tears fell upon his face.  Then she helped him to his feet and led him to her bed. 

 

“I’m ready to show you that good time,” she murmured.  “I’ve really missed you.”

 

“No, not a good time,” he whispered, as they lay together, facing each other on the pillow, “because it’s always a good time with you.  I’d rather you showed me how much you loved me.”

 

And she gently wound his braids around her fists and pulled him to her.  “That’s easy,” she said softly and she pressed her lips against his own.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“What a dreadful story!” exclaimed Thorin.  “What was the lap-top up to?”_

_Tauriel gave him a hug.  “Yes, it must have been awful to lose your memory.”_

_“Well, it was even worse,” snorted Thorin, “to be kicked out of your bed.  Anyone would think that the lap-top had it in for me because I have such a good sex life!”_

_The elf laughed.  “Yes, I’m sure that everyone, including the lap-top, is jealous of that!  But, perhaps it was also trying to make a point.”_

_“Rubbish!” responded her husband.  “I’ve got no time for points that are made which involve misery and sexual frustration.”_

_“Well, when you lost your memory, you were obsessed with getting into bed with me.  Surely there’s more to our relationship than that?”_

_“There is?” asked Thorin, wide-eyed and innocent._

_“Oh, you!” laughed Tauriel, seizing him hard by his braids so that he winced._

_Then he took her gently in his arms and whispered: “Show me this ‘more’ to our relationship, my love.  We have all day.”  And he picked her up tenderly and carried her to the bedroom.)_

.o00o.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all, folks. At least for the moment. Thank you for reading and I hope to make a return sometime in the near future. Much love. XXX


	71. Thorin, the Fugitive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, the Fugitive is meant to be a little reassurance for those of you who are feeling sad about the Battle of the Five Armies: Thorin does not die – at least not in my stories, LOL! This is just one of two extra stories that I’ve had tucked away for months and have been reserving for a special occasion, like the premiere of the very last Middle-earth film. Something worth celebrating, as well as mourning, I reckon.
> 
> The lap-top powers itself up and writes a really rotten story about Thorin and Tauriel: has Thorin murdered his beloved wife?

 

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….and Everyone Else

 

Thorin, the Fugitive

 

Pt I

 

As he climbed back up the hill to the forge, Thorin began to wish that he and Tauriel had brought their horses.  He had been performing in a play at the Moot Hall that evening and he was suddenly feeling very, very tired.

 

The play, as usual, had been a great success.  Much to everyone’s delight, the Drama Society had broken its own rules and had allowed non-members to perform, just this once, because the play had been about the War of the Ring and many of the residents of Valinor had taken part in it: Bilbo, Frodo, Elrond, Galadriel, Legolas, Gandalf and Gimli, in particular.  They had been asked if they wanted to play themselves and they had eagerly agreed and, although their portrayal was often stiff or clumsy, they had thrown themselves so much into the play that their enthusiasm had enthralled the audience, especially when they considered that here, before them, were not actors but the actual heroes who had brought about the downfall of Sauron.

 

Well, Thorin hadn’t fought in that war: he had been in Valinor by then.  But, he had been asked to play Aragorn and, although not as tall as that great warrior and king, his presence was so magnetic that everyone had soon forgotten his size.  “And, with your beard, you even look a bit like him,” Legolas had said.  It had been a very satisfying role and the audience had very much appreciated his performance.  There had been a party afterwards to which the cast, crew and audience had been invited, and, although that had been very enjoyable too, Thorin was now exhausted and he just wanted to get back up the hill to his bed.

 

Thorin finally collapsed down upon the feather mattress in such a way that Tauriel didn’t tease him about having a prolonged bout of love-making to finish off the evening; instead, she felt a bit worried.   “Do you think you’re ill?” she asked.

 

“I don’t know,” muttered her husband, before slipping into a heavy and dreamless sleep.

 

_(On the dining-room table, the laptop powered itself up and began to write a story of its own.)_

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin, the Fugitive

 

The morning after the play, Thorin came to very, very slowly.  Was he ill, he asked himself? He didn’t have a headache or a fever, which was good, but his limbs felt like lead and it was as if weights were on his eyelids, holding them closed.  He was on his back and he appeared to be holding something cold and wet in his hand and it was this which finally made him force his eyes open.

 

Then the nightmare began.

 

He looked down to his hand and he was holding a long, sharp knife, covered in gouts of blood.  He looked further and saw that the sheets were soaked in blood.  He looked down at himself and his nightshirt was also heavily stained.  And there was no sign of Tauriel.

 

He staggered out of bed, forcing his limbs to work and looked wildly about the room.  There was blood spattered on the wall and a line of blood, as if something had been dragged, trailed out of the door.  He followed it across the sitting-room and out the front door where it finally disappeared into the dirt.  Every doorknob was also smeared with blood and, when he looked down, there was blood on both his hands.

 

Thorin began to shake and collapsed down upon the outside bench.  He had never felt so confused and frightened in his life.  Whose blood was this?  Had some vicious murderer broken in during the night and attacked them?  Had he fought back and was this the attacker’s blood?  Or was it Tauriel’s?  His mind refused to accept that thought.  Had he been knocked unconscious?  Had Tauriel run away?  No, she would never leave him.  So, where was she?  He could make no sense of anything.

 

Suddenly, half a dozen elven guardsmen came marching up the hill from the harbour and Thorin felt a sense of relief.   He recognised some of them and he staggered to his feet, hoping that they would help.  But, when they saw him, they stopped abruptly, a horrified look on their faces.  Finally, one stepped forward: “Thorin Oakenshield?” he asked tentatively.  “The owner of this property?”

 

“Of course I’m Thorin Oakenshield,” he snapped.  “Some of you know me.”

 

The leader of the group cleared his throat.  “We’ve had a report of a disturbance here, screaming and such-like, and we’ve come to investigate.”  Then he looked Thorin up and down.  “Might I ask where all this blood has come from, sir?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Thorin.  “I’ve only just woken up and found the bed and room covered in blood.  And my wife is missing.” At this he sank back on the bench and covered his face in his hands.

 

The guardsmen looked at each other.  “I suggest, sir,” said the captain, “that you go and have a good wash at the pump in your forge whilst we search the house and find you some clean clothes.”

 

Thorin, glad that someone had taken charge, did as he was bid and soon a white-faced soldier appeared at the door of the forge with a clean shirt and breeches.  A pair of old boots were standing in the corner and he slipped them on and returned to the house.  The captain barred his way.  “I’m sorry, but you can’t come in, sir.  We’re looking for evidence.”

 

“Evidence?” asked Thorin stupidly.

 

“Well, yes,” was the polite reply.  “If your wife is missing and there’s a lot of blood, then she might be dead.”  Thorin stiffened in an agonising spasm.  “And, I need to warn you now, sir, that at the moment, you are the only suspect and I shall have to arrest you.”

 

Thorin’s jaw dropped and he felt like lashing out at the captain.  How dare he suggest that he had killed his wife!  But, remembering the huge amounts of blood and the knife in his hand, he could understand the reasoning.  Just make him wrong!  He had to be wrong!

 

The soldiers tied his hands behind his back and then led him down the hill to the lock-up.  He knew it well, he thought, but he had imagined that he would never see the inside of it again.  However, this time, the captain had had experience of what it was like to have Thorin Oakenshield in prison: that last time, when he had allowed visitors, half of Valinor had turned up on the doorstep.  This time, no such general invitation was thrown out and the captain was more selective.  When the entire Oakenshield family arrived demanding admittance, he would only allow Thorin’s son, Arion, inside and only for a few minutes.

 

“I need to get out of here, Arion,” Thorin said.  “Your mother is missing and I’ve got to find her.”

 

Arion pulled a grim face.  “I don’t think they’re going to let you out any time soon, father,” he replied.  “They seem convinced that you have killed her and that her body is buried somewhere.  They’re doing a thorough search of the area.”

 

“And what’s the general word out there?” Thorin asked anxiously.

 

“Well, a goodly number of people just can’t believe it, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary.  But, there’s a hard core who think that no good can come of a dwarf.”

 

Thorin sighed and the guard came in to usher Arion away.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Unlike the last time he had been imprisoned, Arion was his only visitor that day, and Thorin wondered if this was because the captain was keeping everyone at bay or because people doubted his innocence.  The darkness descended and he lay on his cot and stared across the guardroom and out of the barred window on the far wall at the stars.  Inside his head he was screaming as he wondered where in Valinor Tauriel was and whether he was too late to save her.

 

Suddenly, a shadow appeared at the window and, “Thorin!  Thorin!” a voice whispered hoarsely.  It was Thranduil and he was tying a rope around the bars.  “Stay back!” he warned quietly.  Well, trapped as he was in his cell, Thorin had little choice and he watched in fascination as the rope tightened and the window was pulled from its socket, landing on the grass outside with a relatively quiet plop.

 

The elven king climbed through the opening with a grin.  “I’ve come to bust you out,” he said.  “At least, I believe that’s the expression.”  And he next tied his rope to the cell door of the prison cage.  “My horse is on the other end,” he volunteered.  “Immensely strong creature.”  And he disappeared back out of the window opening and the rope tightened once more.  At first, the bars merely buckled but then the lock burst and, with a silent laugh of relief, Thorin climbed over the wreckage and out through the window, making his escape.

 

Outside, Thranduil was looping up his elven rope and attaching it once more to his pommel.  “Always useful, these ropes,” he said.  And he hooked a thumb towards a nearby stand of trees where a second horse was waiting for Thorin.  Then, both mounted, they trotted quietly away.

 

They kept clear of the open road and, by the light of the moon, the elf began to lead him up into the hills.  “Where are we going?” asked Thorin.

 

“To visit Gandalf,” was the response.  “I reckon he will give us the wisest advice.”

 

“Us?” said Thorin.  “You’ve done enough, Thranduil.  You’ve got Nennia and Idris and Gilrin to consider.  You’ve done enough,” he repeated.  “I’ll visit Gandalf on my own.”

 

“Well,” laughed the elf, “that’s not what I would call friendship.  And besides, I’m doing this as much for Tauriel as I am for you, don’t you know?”

 

“Thank you,” said Thorin.  And it was only a few years ago, he thought, that he had still regarded the elven king as his enemy and rival.  They rode on silently, lost in thought, up into the hills and, four hours later, they arrived at Gandalf’s cabin.

 

Although it was still the middle of the night, the wizard seemed to be up, dressed and waiting for them.  “How did you know we were coming?” asked Thorin.

 

“Well, who else would you ask for help?” was the response.

 

The fire was stoked up, a pot of tea was made and then they sat facing each other, ready to tussle with the mystery of Tauriel’s disappearance.  Gandalf already knew the details: “Bad news travels fast,” he said.  “And now we must analyse all that we know about the situation.  So, let’s hear it from the beginning, Thorin.”

 

“Tauriel and I had just returned from the play in the Moot Hall,” began Thorin.  “And I was feeling so very tired that I collapsed into bed and went fast asleep.”

 

“Hmm,” said Gandalf thoughtfully.  “Would you say you were exceptionally tired?” he asked.

 

“Actually,” replied Thorin, “I would.  We both thought that I might be ill.”

 

“But Tauriel felt all right?”

 

“As far as I know, yes.”  And then he continued: “I didn’t wake up until first light and then I still felt very tired.  I opened my eyes and everything was drenched in blood and I was holding a knife in my hand.  I followed a trail of it until it disappeared outside.  And then the guard came.  They said there had been some report of screaming.  No-one had been brave enough to check things out themselves but one of them had ridden to fetch the soldiers.”

 

“So, the screaming must have come from Tauriel,” murmured the wizard, “which means she wasn’t killed on the bed.  In fact, if she were yelling her head off, she can’t even have been badly injured.”

 

“The shouts stopped suddenly,” offered Thorin.

 

“And that’s when she was knocked unconscious,” suggested Gandalf.

 

“And perhaps she was carried off,” put in Thranduil excitedly, “either over a horse or even in some kind of a wagon.”

 

Thorin’s heart began to fill with a desperate hope.

 

“And so, the main question is,” mused Gandalf, “who would hate you so much that they would want to see you  tried and executed for murder, Thorin?”

 

The dwarf stared at the floor.  “Well, there are plenty of elves in Valinor who still don’t like me because I’m a dwarf and wish that I had never been invited here in the first place.  But that’s just dislike and intolerance, isn’t it?  Not exactly a murderous hatred.”

 

“What about Idril?” asked Thranduil.  “She’s already been responsible for your imprisonment once.”

 

“But she isn’t powerful enough to carry this off,” was Thorin’s opinion.  “She couldn’t lift an unconscious Tauriel onto a horse or into a cart.”

 

“Then it’s got to be her father, Riel,” concluded Gandalf.  “He has hated you from the first moment he set eyes on you in Middle-earth, and he doesn’t appear to have got over it.”

 

“And I think that unusual tiredness,” added Thranduil, “must have been as the result of drugs, either slipped into your food or your drink down at the Moot Hall.  Did you happen to see Riel or his daughter there?”

 

Thorin wrinkled his brow.  “They might have been.  I don’t know.  It was a very packed room.”

 

“So, now we come to the important bit,” muttered the wizard.  “If Tauriel has been abducted, where on earth is she?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

“Well, if Riel’s responsible then he can’t suddenly disappear from Galadriel’s court.  It would look too suspicious.  He must have her captive in that area, either in a hut or a cave, so that he can pop out and feed her,” suggested Thorin.

 

“I think I’ll go and visit Galadriel,” said Gandalf.  “I’ll ask some surreptitious questions and try to keep an eye on Riel’s movements.”  And, since the sun was now rising, he set out with all speed, leaving the two kings behind him to have a bit of a rest.  In fact, Thorin did manage to sleep knowing that the most acute and trustworthy person in Valinor was on his case.

 

.o00o.

 

But, when Thorin woke up a few hours later, he became restless.  He paced backwards and forwards on the terrace for a while, scanning the road that wound up the side of the hill.  But, when he could see no sign of Gandalf, he finally went inside and found Thranduil.

 

The elven king was hunched in front of the fire, toasting crumpets.  “Do you want one?” he asked Thorin, looking up.  The dwarf took one from the proffered plate and absently sank his teeth into it.

 

“I think I’ll set off, then,” he muttered.  “Are you coming with me?”

 

Thranduil looked startled.  “Set off?” he asked.  “I thought that Gandalf told us to wait here for him?”

 

“I’ve waited long enough,” snapped Thorin impatiently.  “Whilst we sit here, twiddling our thumbs, Tauriel may be in danger.  Even if she were alive when she disappeared, how much longer might she survive in the hands of a mad man?   I’m going in search of her myself and,” he added rather regretfully, “I expect that I’ll need your help, because you know the area around Galadriel’s court much better than I do.”

 

“No,” said Thranduil firmly.  “We have to wait for Gandalf.  Do you remember how he told you not to enter the Lonely Mountain without him?  But you did and woke up a dragon with the direst of consequences.  I thought you had learned a lesson.”

 

“There are no lessons as far as Tauriel is concerned,” replied Thorin, beginning to lose his temper.  Then he threw down the card that Thranduil normally played.  “And aren’t you supposed to be my best friend?”

 

The elf king twitched.  “Of course I am,” he replied, “but it could be dangerous, going out against someone as unstable as Riel.  And you haven’t even got your sword.  Gandalf will know better how to handle him.”

 

Thorin gave him a scornful look.  “Where’s the prince of Mirkwood who fought with a dragon and got half his face ripped off for his pains?”

 

“Well, perhaps I’d rather keep the other half,” muttered Thranduil a bit sullenly.  But Thorin’s words had done the intended job and he flung back his platinum hair and clapped his best friend on the shoulder.  “All right,” he finally said with a grin.  “You win.  What’s the plan?”

 

Thorin marched off to the kitchen where he fished around in the drawers until he came up with a lethal looking vegetable knife.  “A weapon!” he said, stuffing it into his belt.  And then he moved on to Gandalf’s study where he began to sort through an untidy pile of maps, snorting with irritation at the difficulty of finding anything in the chaotic room.  Finally, he found what he was looking for and, sweeping an assortment of rubbish from the table, spread out the map upon it.

 

“Come on,” he said.  “This shows the area we need to search in.  Any ideas?”

 

Thranduil bent over the map with a furrowed brow.  Finally, he said slowly: “Look, there are a series of small caves here.  I came across them once when I was out hunting.  They are tucked away in a forest and I wonder how many people know of them?”

 

“That’s it!” exclaimed Thorin.  “I’m sure you’re right.”  And folding up the map and stuffing it into his pocket, he strode from the room to the stables where he began to saddle his horse.  Thranduil hurried behind him and got his own horse ready too.

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he said darkly.  But Thorin just grinned and swung himself into the saddle.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

They made their way as quickly as possible to the fringes of the forest where Thranduil assured Thorin they would find the cave system.  “We need to go cautiously from now on,” he said.  “The last thing we want is to bump into Riel coming or going from here.”

 

“Why not?” growled Thorin.  “If I bump into him, I’ll kill him.  Just give me the chance.”

 

Thranduil sighed.  “Oh dear!  Why do dwarves always have to look for the most violent solution?  We want to get Tauriel out of here in one piece, don’t we?  The more quietly we go about things, the better.”

 

Thorin nodded curtly at him and Thranduil led the way, into the woods.

 

Checking out the map, the elven king pointed to a bluff which overlooked the caves.  “I think we should head for this,” he said.

 

They dismounted, tied their horses to a tree and went the rest of the way on foot.  They approached the edge of the bluff wriggling on their stomachs and peered cautiously over the top.  What they saw made Thorin grunt and he began to rise to his feet; but Thranduil grabbed him by his shoulder and pulled him back down again.  “Wait, you fool!” he whispered sharply.

 

“If you do that again, elf, you’ll feel my fist in your face,” snarled Thorin in a hoarse whisper.  “That’s my wife down there and she needs my help!”

 

“Well, she’s waited several days so she can wait a few moments longer,” snapped Thranduil.  “We don’t want to mess things up at the last minute.”

 

Thorin knew he was right but Tauriel presented such a pathetic picture that his heart felt as though it had been wrenched from his chest.  How he restrained himself from hurtling down the hill and clasping her in his arms, he didn’t know.

 

The caves were little more than holes burrowed out of the hillside.  Tauriel sat just inside the entrance to the largest one, looking exhausted and fragile.  Her bottom lip was split open and one side of her face was battered and bruised.   She couldn’t move because she was chained to the wall by both her wrists.

 

The two kings carefully studied the scene and then Thorin finally said: “Come on, let’s go.  She’s on her own.”  But, at that moment, Riel entered the valley below them on horseback.  He dismounted and produced some food from his saddlebags and the elf and the dwarf sat back to watch.

 

Riel approached Tauriel with a slimy grin on his face.  “Look,” he said, producing a container of strawberries, “I’m treating you to your favourite fruit.  Don’t say I never do anything for you.”  Tauriel raised her head and just glared at him.  But Riel laughed and, nodding at her chained wrists, continued: “What a shame you can’t feed yourself; but, don’t worry – I’ll look after you, have no fear.”  And he selected a strawberry and pressed it to her lips.  Tauriel took a big bite and then spat it in his face.

 

“Well done, girl,” Thorin murmured in satisfaction.

 

“Now, don’t be silly,” said Riel smoothly, wiping the mush from his face.  “Do you really want to die of starvation?”

 

“If Thorin is executed, then, yes, I want to die,” hissed Tauriel between gritted teeth.

 

Riel sat back and leaned against the opposite wall of the cave.  “You know,” he said, his brow wrinkling, “I’ve never understood this vile passion you seem to have for a dwarf.  It’s a perversion of everything that’s natural, you know.”

 

Tauriel ignored this remark and changed the subject.  “And what do you intend to do with me once Thorin is dead?” she asked.  “You can never let me go.  I’d tell the whole of Valinor what you have done – and then I’d kill you.”

 

“No,” mused the elf lord slowly.  “I really hadn’t thought that one through.  On the night that I set Thorin up, I couldn’t bring myself to kill you.  You’re just much too beautiful and it would have been such a waste.  And I’ve always had a soft spot for you, don’t you know?  But, you’re right.  That was a mistake.  So, what shall I do with you?”  He looked up and grinned slyly at her.  Then he bent forward and ran a finger down her cheek.  “Yes, much too beautiful for death…..At least for the moment.  Perhaps I shall keep you chained up here for a while, for my own personal use.  And _then_ , perhaps, I’ll kill you.”

 

Tauriel’s head whipped around and she sank her teeth into the side of his hand.  He screamed and hit her hard and she was forced to release him.  Thorin could stand watching no longer and he began to lurch to his feet once more but Thranduil seized him by a braid and yanked him back again.  Unfortunately, the damage was done, and a dislodged stone rolled down the hillside.  They both held their breath but neither Riel nor Tauriel seemed to notice.  The elf lord was busily sucking his hand and he rose angrily to his feet.  “Starve then,” he said.  And he upended his bag of fruit on the ground in front of her.  “Or eat this like a dog,” he added.  And then he mounted his horse and rode away.

 

The very second that Riel was out of earshot, Thorin was stumbling down the hill with Thranduil following more cautiously behind him.  “You always come,” sighed Tauriel in relief as her husband’s arms went around her and she buried her face in his shoulder.  “I thought you were in prison,” she murmured.

 

“I broke him out,” said Thranduil rather proudly.  “And it’s time to break you out too.”  And the two of them began to examine her chains.

 

“Drat!” spat Thorin.  “They’re mithril.”

 

“Yes,” said Tauriel.  “He’s been preparing for weeks.  No stone has been left unturned.  The keys are are always on him.”

 

“Then, if the chains are unbreakable, let’s see if we can somehow free them from the rock.”  And they both bent over to examine the fastenings.  But, so intent were all three on this task that none of them saw the club come down until Thranduil collapsed in a heap on the cave floor.

 

“Pathetic,” sneered Riel, standing there with his sword drawn.  “Did you really think I didn’t hear that stone dislodged from the bluff?  And I would have thought that a mighty warrior like you, Thorin, would know better than to try to effect a rescue without coming fully armed.”  And as Thorin pulled out the knife from his belt, he laughed in disbelief.  “A vegetable knife?  You must be joking.”  And he swung his sword in a graceful arc at the dwarf that would have put an end to a lesser man.  But, Thorin stepped athletically to one side and crouched determinedly with his knife in his hand.

 

“You can duck and dive all you like, dwarf,” continued Riel, “but I shall have you in the end and the people of Valinor will thank me for killing a murderer.”  And he drew back his sword for another blow.

 

“I think,” said a quietly authoritative voice, “that it is time for things to end here.”  And, as a startled Riel looked over his shoulder, Thorin kicked the sword from his hand and had his (very sharp) vegetable knife at the elf lord’s throat.  “Enough!” exclaimed Gandalf firmly.  “It is for others to decide his fate.  Release him.  He knows that it is finished.”  And Thorin reluctantly withdrew the knife from his throat but not before he had torn the keys from around a thong at his neck.

 

Gandalf was standing there with half a dozen elven soldiers dressed in Galadriel’s colours.  “Why do you never wait, Thorin?” the wizard sighed.  “We were just about to arrest him.”  But Thorin was too busy unlocking Tauriel’s chains to take any notice.

 

Thranduil was groaning on the floor and two of the soldiers went to help him.  Seeing everyone thus occupied, Riel made a break for it and, within seconds, they could hear his horse galloping away.  “Go after him!” yelled Thorin.

 

“What?  On foot?” asked the wizard.  “We shall sort him out later.”

 

“What will become of him?” asked Tauriel, rubbing her wrists as the chains fell from them.

 

“Oh,” said Gandalf with a bit of a twinkle, “I expect he’ll become Valinor’s most famous – in fact, Valinor’s only – outlaw.  He’ll live out there all alone, under the greenwood tree.  And it won’t be much fun.  He’ll rob from the rich and give to the poor……Oh, sorry.  Wrong story,” he added as Thorin quirked an eyebrow.  “But, let’s just say that he’ll be pretty miserable and I think you will have your revenge.”

 

Thranduil staggered to his feet.  “Let’s go back to your place, Gandalf,” he said.  “I’ve had enough and feel desperately in need of a cup of tea and some nice comfort food.”

 

And at the murmured agreement, Thorin swept Tauriel up into his arms and carried her carefully up the hill to the horses.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“By Mahal!” exclaimed Thorin, slamming the laptop shut.  “This machine nearly killed us that time!  There’s something vindictive about its storytelling and it’s getting dangerous!  How on earth did it manage to write one all by itself?  And, just look at you, Tauriel!”_

_Tauriel gingerly fingered her split lip and bruised face as Thorin raised the computer above his head to smash it._

_“Stop!” she said, gripping his arm.  “If we don’t use the laptop to write about ourselves then our lives will come to a halt.  Nothing will happen to us any more!”_

_“Well,” snarled Thorin.  “Do we really want this sort of thing to happen to us?  Perhaps it would be better if things did come to a full stop.”_

_“But, there’s always a happy ending, my love,” she said gently.  “Perhaps it’s just presenting us with challenges to keep us on our toes.”_

_“All right,” snapped her husband, flinging the laptop back on the table.  “But,” (and he raised his voice pointedly in the machine’s direction), “it had better watch out!  And no more leaving it open so that it can write stories all by itself.  I want at least a modicum of control.”_

_“I want a cuddle,” said Tauriel softly.  “I missed you so much, chained up in that cave.  But I knew you would come.”_

_“I think we’re both in need of a cuddle,” her husband replied.  And he put an arm about her and led her gently from the room.)_

 

.o00o.

 

**That naughty lap-top, LOL.  Next week, Thorin wants some recompense for its bad behaviour in _Thorin has a Nice Day ……. Or Two_.  I wonder if that’s really what he gets as he helps out with a play down in the Moot Hall again?!   Thank you so much for returning to read my stories once.**

 

 

 

 

 


	72. Thorin Has A Nice Day....Or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one? Probably not. But, let’s just get Xmas over and done with first. Thank you so much for reading and commenting on these stories. It has made the effort all seem worthwhile.
> 
>  
> 
> Thorin thinks he deserves a bit of recompense from the laptop after it has given him so many difficult moments. How about a nice day….or two? Will the laptop play along?

.o00o.

 

All About Thorin….And Everyone Else

 

Thorin Has A Nice Day….or Two

 

Pt I

 

Unusually, it was Thorin, and not Tauriel, who was sitting up in bed and worrying, while his wife seductively stroked his muscular thigh in an attempt to persuade him to lie down on the pillow.

 

“I can’t help it,” he said.  “I’m listening in the dark, just waiting for the laptop to somehow power up by itself, even though I know I checked and double-checked that it was firmly closed before I came to bed.”

 

Tauriel sighed.  “Look, my love,” she murmured.  “That was a one-off.  We left it open; it somehow managed to start itself and then it wrote a horrible story about us.  We’ll make absolutely sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

 

“Too right it’s not going to do that again,” snarled Thorin.  “But, it’s trying to take over our lives.  Even when one of us types a story, it interferes and stops us from saying what we really want.  At first, I thought it was only trying to help – and perhaps it was.  Now it seems to be getting vindictive and I’m not so sure of its motives.  And, that’s why I can’t sleep.”

 

“Come on, my love,” whispered Tauriel.  “Let’s have a cuddle and we can think what to do in the morning.”

 

“All right,” grumbled Thorin.  “But don’t blame me if we wake up tomorrow and find ourselves dead.”

 

.o00o.

 

Well, since Thorin found that he was still alive the next morning, he had his breakfast and then opened up the laptop for a full frontal confrontation.  “Are you listening?” he hissed at it.  “You’re here to do what I tell you to do.  We’ve all had enough of your silly games and if you don’t fall into line, then I’ll have your guts for garters.  Do you understand?”

 

The laptop, which had been humming quietly, let out a small whine.

 

“Good,” said Thorin.  “I’m glad you know where we both stand.  And now you’re going to make things up to me for all the misery and mayhem you created in that last story.  Not to mention the one about my memory loss.  So, let’s try again with that title I wanted the other day but which you seemed averse to.” 

 

And then he typed:

 

Thorin Has A Nice Day

 

_“No,” he said thoughtfully as he stared at the heading.  I think you owe me a bit more than that.”  And he bent over the keyboard again and added:_

 

……Or Two

 

Thorin awoke after a deep and dreamless sleep.  The sun was streaming into his windowless bedroom through the open door and it looked set to be a beautiful day.  He luxuriated on his soft pillow for a while and then Tauriel suddenly entered with a cup of tea.

 

“Here you are, my love,” she said with a smile.  “I know it’s your turn to make breakfast, but you were sleeping so soundly that I decided to get up and make it for you.”   And Thorin realised that a delicious smell was wafting into the room.  “You’ve got ten minutes,” she said, “until it’s ready.”  Then, with a kiss on the lips and a sultry “mmm”, his wife sailed off to the kitchen once more.

 

Ten minutes later, Thorin emerged from the bedroom in his dressing gown to find the table beautifully laid and a whole selection of his favourite breakfast food set out waiting for him.  He sat down and Tauriel leaned over his shoulder to pour a fresh cup of tea, kissing the tip of his ear as she did so.  “So, what are you going to do today?” she asked.

 

Yes, what was he going to do?  Something nice.  Something enjoyable.  Well, there was the garden.  Not exactly what you would call ‘nice’, but it kept him fit.  And so, Thorin strolled out to the garden, got out his tools and began to dig over the vegetable patch.

 

After half an hour, he paused for a moment to lean on his spade and to admire the lawns and flower beds that he had recently created for Tauriel.  It was all coming along nicely.  But, just at that moment, Arion and Lostwithiel stopped for a chat.  “Need some help?” asked Arion.  “Mary Sue and Poppy are spring-cleaning and have kicked us out.  We’re at a bit of a loose end.”

 

“That loose, hey?” grinned Thorin, holding out his spade and fork .  The pair vaulted the fence and, seizing the implements, set to, whilst Thorin sat down on the bench and enjoyed the respite.  Then, Bilbo appeared with a plate in his hand.  “Ah, there you are,” he said.  “I’ve just finished making a huge chocolate cake – I’ll never finish it off myself and so I thought you’d like a slice.”  And he thrust the plate into the dwarf’s hand.  “I’ll just fetch you a cup of tea to go with it,” he added, disappearing off into Thorin’s house.

 

“Ah, this is the life,” thought Thorin, five minutes later, leaning back in the sun, his plate in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.  If only every day could be as pleasant and undemanding as this one.

 

But, after an hour, Lostwithiel and Arion were still digging away in the vegetable patch and showing no signs of flagging.  The tea and cake were long gone and Thorin was beginning to feel a bit bored.  Doing nothing was a bit repetitious.  When he went inside, Tauriel was scrubbing the flagstones.  “Don’t you mess up my nice, clean floor with those dirty boots,” she said.  “Go and find some amusement elsewhere.”

 

All right, I will, thought Thorin.  He would saunter down to the harbour to see what was going on: _there and back again, to see how far it is_ , as his sister, Dis, would say whenever the children asked where she was going.

 

“Just off to the harbour,” he called to Tauriel.  “I’ll be a few hours, I expect.”  But Tauriel only grunted in response.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Down at the harbour, Thorin sat on the harbour wall, watching the boats bobbing on the gentle tide and basking in the sun.

 

“Thorin!” a voice shouted.  He turned to see Ellandel, administrator of the harbour area and secretary of the Valinor Drama Society, hurrying towards him.  “Just the person I want to see!” exclaimed the tall and elegant elf.  “What a coincidence!”  And he sat down next to the dwarf on the sea wall.

 

“What can I do for you?” smiled Thorin, pleased that someone needed his help.  This might occupy his time, hopefully in a pleasant way.

 

“We’ve just decided on a new play.  You weren’t – umm – present for our last meeting and missed out on all the discussions.”

 

“No,” said Thorin sourly.  “I was too busy breaking out of prison.  I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to send my apologies for my absence.”

 

“Bad business.  Bad business,” tutted Ellandel.  “I tried to visit you but the captain wouldn’t let me in.  Still, it’s all over now,” he added brightly, “and you can cheer yourself up with a play.  It’s a comedy – a farce, you know.  Lots of doors opening and closing and what not.  We’ll have to put a tremendous amount of effort into our comic timing.”

 

Thorin brightened.  “That should be interesting,” he said, “and I should like to hone my skills in that area.  I don’t think of myself as a very funny person, you know.”

 

“Mmm,” replied Ellandel, glancing at the rather grim-faced dwarf.  “That’s what some of the others thought.”

 

Thorin’s face fell.  “Does that mean there isn’t a part for me?” he asked in disappointed tones.

 

“Of course there is,” said the administrator cheerfully.  “I persuaded them that you were just the man for the job.  It’s the main role, you know.”

 

“It is?” asked Thorin, looking pleased.  “Tell me about it.”

 

“Well, you’re a sort of anti-hero,” said Ellandel, beginning to wax a bit lyrical and seeing it all in his mind’s eye.

 

“Oh, I do love an anti-hero!  Gives me something to get my teeth into!”

 

“And you’re an envoy, someone who has to visit all the elven courts of Middle-earth on a regular basis; that includes the courts of Thranduil, Elrond and Galadriel.  But the humour derives from the fact that you have a girl in every port, so to speak.”

 

“I wouldn’t behave like that!” exclaimed Thorin indignantly.

 

“Yes, we know that _you_ wouldn’t behave like,” soothed the elf, “but your character does.”

 

“Just as long as the audience knows the difference,” grumbled Thorin.

 

And Ellandel, knowing how the dwarf totally inhabited his roles and actually became the character, quietly thought to himself that doubtless some members of the audience would conclude that this was a real and proper representation of who Thorin was.  But he wasn’t going to say that.

 

“Well,” said Ellandel, continuing, “everything goes along smoothly for a bit.  Our hero has three girlfriends and none of them know about the other – until they all take it into their heads at the same time to visit him in his home.”

 

Thorin laughed: “Yes, I can see how you could milk that for the laughs.  Lots of people jumping in and out of bed with, as you say, all the doors opening and closing and with the girlfriends just missing each other…..and the hero gets more and more tired as he tries to keep them all happy and satisfied at the same time whilst making sure that they don’t bump into each other.”

 

“You’ve got it, Thorin,” the elf laughed.  I knew you’d cotton on to the idea and I know you’ll be excellent in the role.  He’s very handsome, of course,” he wheedled, “and has immense charm.”

 

“Well, he would have, wouldn’t he?” said Thorin, puffing out his chest.  “How far have you got with the planning?”

 

“We’ve auditioned and have chosen just about all the actors for the parts.  I just needed to see you to find out if you wanted to be involved.  And now I need you to come back to the Moot Hall to check out your chemistry with the 3 ladies we have chosen for the female roles.  If you don’t hit it off together,” Ellandel added with a twinkle, “we have plenty of other volunteers who would love to play opposite you.”

 

Then as they walked towards the hall together, Ellandel mused just how much easier it was now that Thorin was a member of the Drama Society because there was never a shortage of willing recruits who were just itching to be cast in the same play as the dwarf.  What was his attraction, he laughed to himself?  Perhaps he needed to be a woman to appreciate Thorin completely.

 

A stage had already been erected inside the hall and various thespians, some of them well-known to Thorin, were lounging around languidly talking to each other.  They perked up when the dwarf entered and gave a little round of applause.

 

“So, you’ve decided to join us,” said one with a grin.

 

“But, you took your time about it,” laughed another.  “If Thranduil hadn’t bust you out of prison, I suppose we would have felt obliged to do it.  The ladies refused to go ahead without you.”

 

Thorin basked in the warmth of their friendly welcome, whilst Ellandel patted him on the shoulder and said: “There, you see.  We couldn’t do it without your presence.  You’re the society’s main attraction.  You put bums on seats.”

 

“I’d rather put mine on his lap,” said one pretty lady to a giggling friend in a loud stage whisper and everyone roared with laughter.

 

“Hush,” reprimanded Ellandel sternly, “or you’ll frighten our shy leading man away.  And he’s pretty irreplaceable.”  But, the corners of his lips twitched and there was more laughter and hugging and good-natured joshing.  And, even though he went a little pink around the ears, Thorin realised that this was the first time that he had really felt a true part of life in Valinor.

 

Three pretty elves were standing on the stage, looking coy and simpering.  “Your leading ladies,” said Elllandel.  Thorin climbed up on the stage to say ‘hello’ and they all kissed him: not exactly a ‘mwah, mwah’ on either cheek but an enthusiastic smack on the lips.

 

“Just practising,” one of them said cheekily.

 

And it was at this point that Thorin wondered for the first time if Tauriel would object.  But, convinced that he could persuade her that, after all, it was just acting, he pushed this concern to the back of his mind.

 

They sat and read through the script.  It was very risqué, both the action and the dialogue, but it was also very funny and Thorin was already beginning to see himself in the role.   Every time that the stage directions indicated that one of the ladies got into bed with him or locked him into a passionate embrace, there was an awful lot of giggling.  But, it all washed over him as he pictured the various scenes in his head and imagined the way he would say his dialogue for maximum impact.  

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Thorin spent a very enjoyable afternoon with his friends and, finally, tired but happy, he climbed back up the hill.

 

“Have you had a nice time?” asked Tauriel, putting a delicious smelling meal on the table.

 

And he told her all (well, almost all) about the new play that he was involved in.  “It’s a comedy,” he said.

 

“Oh, that’s good,” was the response.  “We could do with a bit of a laugh.”

 

“And I play an envoy to all the elven courts.”

 

“That’s marvellous!” exclaimed Tauriel.  “A man of elegance and charm makes a change from all those rough/tough warriors you tend to get landed with.”

 

“And I somehow manage to find myself in an awful lot of trouble.”

 

“Well, it wouldn’t be a comedy without a bit of trouble,” she smiled.  “What happens?”

 

“Mmm,” muttered Thorin, looking down at his boots.  “I think it ought to be a surprise.  You don’t want spoilers, do you?”

 

“Go on, then,” she laughed.  “Keep the details to yourself.  At least I can guess that it’ll have a happy ending.”

 

“Mmm,” repeated Thorin and busied himself with his dessert.

 

Their night in bed was a fun one as Thorin, at Tauriel’s request, pretended to be an envoy and she acted out the part of a beautiful elf at Thranduil’s court whom he seduced with his golden tongue.  It was as if she had read the script, he thought to himself.  But he fell asleep happy and woke up in the hope of experiencing another nice day.

 

.o00o.

 

And he wasn’t wrong.  The morning started well with a very satisfying tumble with Tauriel between the sheets before – and after – breakfast.  This was followed by visits from his family who came with little gifts just to show how much they loved him.  Then Arion and Lostwithiel started on the garden again and Tauriel sent him on his way down to the harbour and rehearsals with a kiss.  “I’m so looking forward to this production,” she said.  “I’m sure you’ll be absolutely wonderful and the family will be so very proud of you.”  Thorin gulped a little at that and hoped that she was right.  He’d tell her about his three girlfriends tonight when she was in a good mood.  Or, perhaps tomorrow night.  Or even in a week or two.  Or perhaps he’d leave it as a surprise.  No need to upset her unnecessarily.  And he strolled down the hill in the sun and forgot all about his problems.

 

The cast did a walk-through of the play this time, holding the script in their hands.  The ladies were very keen to act out certain scenes – repeatedly.  We need to get the timing right, they explained, as they practised getting in and out of bed with Thorin.  And, of course, the passionate embraces and, in particular the kissing, were not something you did just like that.  Such movements needed a special fluid grace if they weren’t going to look silly; and that involved a lot of repetition too.  And the most difficult thing was disrobing.  That could look _so_ clumsy with people hopping around on one foot as a boot got caught in a trouser leg or a silly struggle as a shirt got jammed over the face, with a silver hair bead trapped in a button-hole.  Mmm, they frowned, as Thorin removed his shirt for the _n_ th time.  Not _quite_ right.  Perhaps he needed to do that again – more slowly.

 

Thorin was suspicious but he submitted with a good grace.  And those who weren’t in a particular scene sat back and watched and laughed a lot – which was a good sign, he thought.  It was exhausting work, not least because the play which was only two hours in length took four hours to get through in the practice session.

 

But, when they reached the final line, Ellandel grinned triumphantly.  “This is going to be so _good_!” he exclaimed.  “Thank you very much, everyone!”  And they all sat out on the greensward in front of the Hall and relaxed with a well-deserved cream tea.

 

The golden afternoon drifted by as they all lounged on the grass, chatting and laughing and gossiping and drinking wine.  They wanted to hear all the gory details of Thorin’s escape from prison and his rescue of Tauriel.  How romantic, all the ladies sighed, and they gazed up into his endlessly blue eyes as they sprawled at his feet whilst Thorin gave an animated account of his adventure with his back leaning against a tree.

 

One of his ‘girlfriends’ placed a hand on his muscular thigh but Thorin was so involved in his story that he didn’t seem to notice.  She wasn’t quite sure whether to be insulted or pleased that he seemed so unaware because now she could squeeze his leg just a teensy bit and get away with it.  Thorin finished and glanced down at the hand, blushing pink a little, and the lady slowly withdrew it whilst the others grinned.  I need to be on my guard against this lot, he thought.

 

But it wasn’t until quite late that evening that the party finally split up and Thorin slowly dawdled back up the hill, the warmth of the company’s farewells ringing in his ears.  Well, that was another lovely day, he thought, as he approached the forge.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

But, all good things must come to an end, as Dis used to say after the children had run riot all day.  And her most oft-repeated expression was: “There’ll be tears before bedtime!”  Well, she wasn’t far wrong.

 

“Did you have a nice day?” yelled Tauriel from the kitchen as he came through the door.

 

“Yes.  Lovely,” he replied.

 

“I’m just cooking your favourite meal,” she said, as she came into the sitting-room, wiping her hands.  Then she stopped in her tracks.  “What’s wrong with your face?” she asked.

 

“My face?” replied Thorin in confusion.  And he lifted a hand to touch it.

 

“Your cheeks are all red and your lips are swollen,” was the sharp retort.  “How did that happen?”

 

“Erm…” said Thorin, his cheeks getting even redder.

 

“Was that done by an over-enthusiastic leading lady in a kissing scene?” she asked even more sharply.

 

“Erm…” said Thorin.

 

“You never said there was a kissing scene – or any romance, come to that,” she continued.  “I thought it was an elegant comedy about an envoy.  So, where does kissing come into it?”

 

“Erm….it comes into it quite a lot,” replied Thorin, resigned to telling his wife a version of the truth.  “I’ve got three leading ladies, one from each of the elven courts.  And it’s not so much an elegant comedy….more a farce, I would say.”

 

Tauriel pointed angrily to a dining chair: “Sit down and tell me _exactly_ what happens,” she demanded.

 

So, Thorin sat down and ruefully gave her an expurgated version of the plot.  For a moment, he thought she had accepted all the kissing that went on in the play but, then she noticed a button missing from his shirt and demanded an explanation.

 

“Umm…that probably happened when I was taking it on and off – they made me do it quite a few times until I got it right,” he said, looking up earnestly into her flashing eyes.  “Or it might have happened when one of my leading ladies had to rip my shirt open.” 

 

  1.   He shouldn’t have said that because she was looking even angrier.



 

“And why would she do that?” Tauriel asked grimly.

 

“Umm…because she wants to get me into bed?”

 

Tauriel’s voice became soft and threatening: “And does this bed scene actually take place on the _stage_?” she asked.  And she was thinking back to Thorin’s first play where a sexual encounter was only implied and the curtain was dropped discreetly before a single button was undone.

 

“Err….yes,” said Thorin.

 

“Stand up!” she snapped.  And he immediately leaped to his feet.  His wife’s gaze ran over him from head to foot until she saw a tear on the bottom hem of his breeches.

 

“And how did _that_ happen?” she asked, folding her arms.

 

Thorin hesitated and then replied guiltily: “It caught on my boot when I was trying to get my breeches off.”

 

“It what!?” she exclaimed.

 

“Yes,” he elaborated.  “It was a bit silly to keep my boots on and so, when I tore the hem, I took my boots off for the next run-through.”

 

Tauriel stood there open-mouthed.  “You’re telling me that the whole of Valinor will get to see my husband naked……”

 

“Half-naked,” corrected Thorin.

 

“…. _naked_ on stage?”

 

“Err, yes,” said Thorin.  “Although I doubt it will be _all_ of Valinor.”

 

“And you’ll be having sex?”

 

“Only pretend sex,” said Thorin indignantly.  The more they discussed this, the worse it sounded.

 

Tauriel shook her head in disbelief.  “Thorin,” she said, “I demand that you resign immediately from this – this – pornographic play!”

 

“Hold up, Tauriel,” he replied.  “That’s coming it a bit strong.  And I can’t pull out just like that – they’re relying on me….I’d let them down.”

 

“So, you’re refusing?”

 

Thorin decided to put his foot down.  “Yes,” he said.

 

At this, Tauriel marched into the bedroom and came back out with a pile of bed linen.  “Then, if you won’t do anything for me, I can’t be bothered to do anything for you.  If you think I’m cooking you a meal, then you’ve got another think coming.  And you can clear out now and sleep in the forge!”  At which point, she flung the pile of bed linen at him.

 

An angry Thorin snatched up the linen and marched off to the forge.  His meal that night consisted of half a dozen wrinkled apples that were stored in a sack in the corner.  And, of course, he was too busy indignantly thinking of that evening’s scenario to get much sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

The next morning, he got up and had a wash under the pump.  Then he strode down the hill to Ellandel’s house.  “You’re early,” said the elf lord in surprise as he let him in.

 

“That’s because Tauriel has kicked me out and I haven’t had any breakfast,” said a dishevelled Thorin.  “And it’s all because I refused to resign from the play.”  A pause.  “She found out all about the kissing and the sex last night.”

 

“Oh dear,” said Ellandel.  And he hurried into the kitchen to make Thorin some food.

 

Later on, in the Moot Hall, the elf got everyone started on rehearsals and then passed control over to the assistant director.  “I’m going up the hill to talk to Tauriel,” he said quietly to Thorin.  “Don’t worry – I shall get things sorted out.”

 

A wretched Thorin thanked him for his pains and then determinedly returned to the stage and lost himself in his character.

 

Ellandel knocked on the door of the forge.  “Oh, it’s you,” said Tauriel sourly and reluctantly let him in.

 

“I’ve come to discuss Thorin’s part in the play,” he said politely.

 

“Now, there’s a surprise,” she said in cutting tones.

 

“No need for sarcasm,” the elf lord replied gently.  “I’m sure you want this resolved as much as I do.”

 

Tauriel sat down with a sigh.  “So, what do you suggest?”

 

“Well, I suggest that you accompany me down to the Hall and see the play in rehearsal.  It’s very funny, you know – Thorin is hilarious – and it’s only rude in an innocent sort of way.”

 

“ ‘Innocent’ and ‘rude’ don’t exactly go together,” said Tauriel, but she could see the point.  And, five minutes later, she was walking down the hill with him.

 

.o00o.

 

As she crept quietly into the back of the Hall with Ellandel, she was met by howls of laughter.  Thorin was up on stage being pursued around the set by one of his ladies.  “Oh dear,” thought Ellandel.  “Wrong moment.”  The dwarf’s _inamorata_ finally cornered him near the bed and ripped off his shirt in one smooth action.

 

Ellandel tried to make light of it.  “They practised that for hours yesterday and now they’ve got it off perfectly,” he whispered.

 

“I should say they have,” muttered Tauriel through gritted teeth.

 

Then the actress yanked away the coverlet, pushed Thorin back on the sheets and whipped off his breeches.  “Excellently done,” murmured Ellandel.

 

Thorin’s character threw up his hands.  “Well, I can give you a quick five minutes,” he said.  And the audience roared, knowing that yet another lady-love was about to make her appearance.  The pair disappeared completely under the sheets and there was a lot of suggestive and energetic movement.  Then the audience burst into gales of laughter once more as Thorin emerged gasping at the bottom of the bed and his girlfriend popped her head out from the top.

 

And it was just at that moment that he spotted Tauriel who was emanating fury from the end of the Hall.  Suddenly breaking out of character, he grabbed the sheet in horror and clutched it around him,   thus exposing his near-naked partner who clapped her hands across her breasts.  “Tauriel!” he cried, stumbling from the bed.  But, she turned on her heel and ran out of the door.

 

Still clutching the sheet around him, Thorin leaped from the stage and dashed down the hall in pursuit of his wife whilst the others stood and gaped.  Tauriel was striding away towards the road that led back to their home, but Thorin scampered after her, bare-footed and trying to avoid the stony patches.  She ignored his cries but he caught up with her at last and grasping her by the shoulder, he spun her around.  To his horror, tears were streaming down her face.  “Don’t cry,” he whispered in distress and, dropping the sheet, he clasped her to his broad chest.

 

“Oh, Thorin,” she gulped into his shoulder.  “I just can’t bear to see you in the arms of another woman.”

 

“But, it’s only _acting_ ,” he said tenderly, stroking her silken hair.  “It doesn’t _mean_ anything.”

 

“I know,” she said.  “I know.”  And she wiped the back of her hand across her running nose.

 

Just at that moment, a group of young elves walked past giggling.  Tauriel gasped and pulled the sheet up around her husband’s exposed form.  “We must look very silly,” she said and she gave a wan smile.

 

“Who cares?” said Thorin.  “All I care about is you.”  Then he headed back towards the Moot Hall.  “Just wait here a moment,” he said over his shoulder.  “I’m off to tell them all that I’m pulling out.”

 

Tauriel gave a startled little cry.  “But you can’t let them down,” she said.  And running after him, she linked her arm in his.  “I’m coming to watch the rest of the play,” she said firmly.  “I need to find out what everyone else finds so amusing.”

 

She sat through it until the bitter end and smiled and even laughed at some of it.  “He’s very good, isn’t he?” said Ellandel as the rehearsal came to an end.

 

“And you just can’t do without him,” she sighed.  “All right, I’ll lend him to you…..  But,” she added, waggling her finger, “just don’t let those ladies take advantage of him.  He’s a real innocent, you know!”

 

“I’ll protect him from them, never you fear,” he laughed.  And he put an arm around her shoulder and led her towards the stage.

 

.o00o.

 

_(Thorin slammed the laptop shut and sprang to his feet.  “I warned you,” he growled angrily, stabbing his finger at it._

_But, before he could do anything violent, a laughing Tauriel put an arm around his shoulder.  “It’s got a sense of humour,” she giggled._

_“A sense of humour?” exclaimed Thorin.  “You need to explain that one to me, I think.”_

_“Well,” she grinned, “your title demanded a nice day…or two.  And that’s what you got: two nice days followed by a horrible one.  And that’s life, you know.  We have to take the good with the bad.”_

_“I suppose so,” grumbled Thorin.  Then he gave the laptop a thump.  “But just watch out, that’s all!”_

_“Come on, Thorin,” whispered Tauriel.  “Forget that naughty machine.  Our stories always end on a lovely note, don’t they?”_

_“What lovely note does this one finish on, then?” he grinned._

_“Well,” was her coy response, “if you’ll escort me to the bedroom, I’ll show you just how much more fun I can be between the sheets than your awful girlfriend.  And,” she added, pulling him towards the door by his braids, “I think I shall be demanding more than a quick five minutes!”)_

 

.o00o.

 

**Hope you enjoyed the interaction with the laptop, LOL, and that you didn’t get too bored with yet another story involving the Drama Soc – but they offer so many possibilities.  All of you, have a very happy Xmas!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	73. Thorin Discovers Xmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Christmas is almost upon us, I suddenly had the urge – with a few prompts from a couple of cyberfriends – to write a seasonal story about Thorin. Of course, Tolkien doesn’t mention Christianity in his stories and so there is no reason for the denizens of Middle-earth or Valinor to know anything about Christmas. But, I have the perfect excuse to introduce the idea through Mary Sue, my character from an AU.
> 
> In this episode, Thorin discovers Xmas and is even persuaded to climb down the chimney, LOL!

 

 

All About Thorin…..And Everyone Else

 

Thorin Discovers Xmas

 

Pt I

 

In the Bleak Midwinter

 

Thorin stuck his nose just above the coverlet.  It was a freezing cold morning and he had no desire to get out of bed.  Tauriel had disappeared off somewhere – he hoped it was to build up the fire and make him a cup of tea – and so he had no-one to warm him.  He felt very grumpy.  The weather was icy and grey and miserable.  He really needed something to cheer him up at this time of year: alcohol, piles of food, a roaring log fire and good company would probably help.

 

“What are you doing, Tauriel?” he yelled, hoping she would shout back that she was making breakfast.

 

“I’m writing a new story based on something that Mary Sue told me about yesterday,” was the shouted response from the dining –room.

 

“I’d rather have breakfast,” was the grumbled retort.

 

“You’ll get breakfast in the story,” said Tauriel, sticking her head around the door.  “Isn’t it about time that you got up, anyway?”  And she hurried back to the laptop.

 

Thorin Discovers Xmas

 

( _she wrote with a wide grin_ ).

 

“Come on, Thorin, get up,” ordered Tauriel.

 

“Can’t,” mumbled Thorin testily.  “It’s too cold.  Look, there’s ice on the _inside_ of the windows!”

 

He saw Tauriel advance upon him with a determined look, ready to whip off the coverlet and so he quickly put on his wheedling face.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to come back to bed for five minutes?” he said in his deep, dark voice, the voice that he only reserved for his wife when he wanted something from her – or if he were playing a majestic warrior with the Valinor Drama Soc.  “I could do with a bit of warming up.”

 

“Nope,” said Tauriel firmly.  And, before he could grab his end, she had whisked the coverlet away.  “Hmm,” she mused, surveying her naked husband for a moment.  “Very tempting.”  But then she turned on her heel.  “Mary Sue’s due any minute,” she called over her shoulder.  “Don’t let her catch you like that.”

 

Thorin rolled from the deep, feather mattress and then struggled into his furry robes, muttering all the while.

 

“Ah,” purred Tauriel, making a brief reappearance and snuggling into the front of his gown.  “I love you in your winter clothing.”   But, when Thorin made a grab for her, she leapt away with a giggle.  “Too busy at the moment for any of that,” she laughed.  And she ran back into the kitchen to make breakfast, leaving her husband feeling very hard done by.

 

“Tease!” he roared, getting ready to run after her.  But, then he was obliged to stop in his tracks as Mary Sue knocked and entered.

 

“Oh, erm, hello, Mary Sue,” he muttered.

 

“You look guilty,” she grinned.  “What are you up to?”

 

“Nothing,” he said, leaning forward and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.  “Just waiting for you.  Is Arion with you?”

 

“He’ll be along in a minute,” replied Thorin’s daughter-in-law.

 

“And Lostwithiel’s coming too,” added Tauriel, entering with a teapot.

 

“With Poppy,” said Mary Sue.

 

“And Bilbo and Frodo,” grinned Tauriel.

 

“And Rosie and Beren.”

 

“Not to mention your best friend, Thranduil,” laughed Tauriel.

 

“Stop talking to me as if I were Beorn,” growled Thorin.  “I don’t need every friend and family member to be introduced to me one by one in case I get bad-tempered.  What’s this all about?”

 

“Well,” explained Tauriel as she set out breakfast, “I had a very interesting discussion with Mary Sue yesterday about what goes on in her world in deepest, darkest winter and I thought it deserved a family discussion.”  She wouldn’t say any more until the whole family, plus Bilbo, Frodo and Thranduil, were seated and eating their plates of bacon and eggs.

 

“All right,” she said at last, as Thorin tucked into his food and began to look less grumpy.  “What would you say is the most miserable time of the year?”

 

“Those days,” said Lostwithiel between bites, “when the sun is at its lowest; when the days are shortest and the nights are longest.  Sometimes I think that we hardly ever see daylight at all.”

 

They all nodded in agreement.  “That’s why,” put in Mary Sue, “in my world, in the middle of winter, we have a big party to cheer ourselves up.  And I mean a BIG party!  A party that can go on for days.”

 

Everyone looked up with expectant grins on their faces.

 

“So, what do you do at these parties?” asked Bilbo with a quirky raise of his eyebrow.

 

Mary Sue laughed.  “You eat a lot; you drink a lot; you build up great roaring fires; you play silly games and you give each other presents.  Lots of presents.”

 

She looked around the table and everyone’s eyes were gleaming with excitement.

 

“That sounds lovely,” breathed Rosie.

 

“The darkest days have been celebrated in my world, one way and another, for thousands of years.  By eating so much of one’s precious stored food,  it’s an affirmation of faith that you believe that the sun will return, that light will come into the world once more, that the crops will grow and that all manner of things will be well.”

 

“And so you party the night – and the darkness - away,” smiled Frodo.  “It seems very hobbit-y to me.”

 

“And this is the best bit,” interrupted Tauriel excitedly.  “Because it’s important to make a big fuss of young people and the children, there is a special old man who comes to visit them.  He is fat and jolly and looks like a cross between dear old Balin and Bombur, but he’s a bit of a wizard, like Gandalf.  He comes down the chimney……”

 

“What?!” exclaimed Thorin, looking up from his toast.  “Why on earth doesn’t he come through the door?”

 

“Is he a burglar?” asked Bilbo with interest.

 

“No, he’s not,” snapped Tauriel, feeling a bit exasperated with the inconsistencies of the story.  “He just comes down the chimney with his sack……”

 

“Sounds like a burglar to me,” said Bilbo.

 

Tauriel pressed on.  “He comes down the chimney with his sack which is stuffed full of presents…..”

 

“Seems like a funny sort of burglar,” said Bilbo.

 

“That’s because he’s NOT a burglar!” said Tauriel, her voice rising.  “He isn’t there to take but to give.  All the smallest children line up to sit on his knee and when they say they’ve been good all year, then they get a present.”

 

“I’d fib,” said Bilbo.  And when everyone gave him a look, he continued: “Well, how many children manage to be good ALL year?  If they all told the truth, then he’d be climbing back up the chimney with a full sack!”

 

“I must admit that it sounds like a lovely idea,” offered Poppy.  “But how are we expected to get hold of a fat, jolly, wizard-y sort of man in Valinor who happens to have a big sack of toys?”

 

Tauriel was gleeful.  “But, he isn’t a real person, you see.  Someone just dresses up and pretends to be him – he was a good man who died hundreds of year ago in Mary Sue’s world and so you need someone to represent him.  We wrap up presents for the children and put them in his sack so that they all believe that this magical old man has given the parcels to them.”

 

“So,” said Thorin, “we provide the presents and this – actor – gets the credit.  Where’s the fun in that?”

 

“Well,” said Thranduil languidly, “I can imagine that the actor has a lot of fun……And you’re such a good actor, Thorin.”

 

“No,” said Thorin, rising from the table, a look of horror passing across his face.  “No, no and no!  I refuse to climb down a chimney!”

 

“Spoilsport!” said Thranduil.  “Now all the children will cry.  Do you intend to make my daughter cry?” he asked with a pained expression.  “How selfish and mean-spirited of you!”

 

The whole table was laughing by now and Thorin slumped back down in his chair with a sigh.  He knew he had been outmanoeuvred.  

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly!

 

An excited few hours were spent around the breakfast table, discussing how they should organise this special event.

 

“What shall we call it?” asked Beren.

 

“Well, back in my world, we call it Xmas or Yule,” replied Mary Sue, “for various historic or religious reasons; but perhaps you guys ought to make up a name of your own.”

 

Various suggestions were tossed out until they at last settled on Winterval  - a shortened version of Winter Festival.

 

Then, more questions were asked about the nice old man with the sack.  What was his name, people wanted to know?

 

“Again, he has quite a few names around the world,” replied Mary Sue.  “Father Christmas, Santa Claus, St Nicholas, Grandfather Frost.”

 

“Oh, I like Grandfather Frost,” exclaimed Rosie.  “You’re my grandfather, Thorin, and you can be a bit frosty,” she giggled.  And Thorin who was still feeling rather bad-tempered at the job which he had been lumbered with, shrugged grumpily and said that this name was as good as any.

 

“And does he have a special costume?” asked Tauriel.

 

“Well,” said Mary Sue, frowning slightly as she studied Thorin’s black hair and beard, “he wears long red robes edged in fur and, since he’s old, he has white hair and a long, white beard.”

 

“Oh,” said Thorin brightly.  “I’m obviously not suitable then.”

 

“You are more suitable than anyone else in this room,” replied Mary Sue firmly.  “A fake beard is usually provided and since he’s so jolly and spends a lot of his time holding onto his padded belly  and laughing ‘Ho, ho, ho’, it seems to me that you’ll have to do quite a bit of rehearsing!”  And she glared at Thorin’s grumpy demeanour.

 

“I’ll design the costume,” offered Thranduil eagerly.  Anything to do with clothes and he was there.   

 

And Mary Sue, seeing that Thorin was about to raise an objection to that as well, stepped in quickly to say that she and Thranduil would design it together and that she would do the sewing.

 

Lostwithiel and Poppy had had a large new extension built onto their manor house in the past year – an elegant ballroom.  And that’s where they decided to hold the party.

 

“And what about this chimney thing?” asked Thorin.

 

“Well, you can come down the chimney in the kitchen,” volunteered Poppy.  “You know, the one we never use, so it’s nice and clean.”

 

They all murmured, “Oh, yes,” at this suggestion because Poppy’s kitchen was enormous and very cosy (in an enormous sort of way).  It had two chimneys – one was up the cooking end and had a vent for the big range; but there was also a wide inglenook up at the sitting and informal eating end.  The range made the kitchen so warm that this source of heating was the only one necessary.

 

“We can start the party having drinks and nibbles with the children in the kitchen; Thorin can come down the chimney and distribute the toys; and then we can move on to the ballroom for the main events.”

 

“What children?” asked Thorin sourly.  “So far, we only have Thranduil’s daughter.”

 

They all looked a bit stumped for a moment.

 

“Why do you always have to spoil things, Thorin?” asked Thranduil indignantly.

 

“No, he has a point,” said Beren.  “What children?”

 

“What we need is a guest list,” suggested Tauriel, coming to the rescue.  “And we must make sure that a suitable number of families with children are invited.”

 

And so they composed their list.  “Not too may,” warned Mary Sue.  “These parties are supposed to be warm, intimate events – they will get too formal if a large number are invited.”

 

And so, apart from Thranduil and his family, they stuck with people from the immediate area and they managed to include a certain number of elven families with children from the nearby tree-houses.  “And if this is successful,” continued Mary Sue, “then perhaps lots of people can organise their own Wintervals next year.

 

And finally, there was the food and the special seasonal decoration.  They were divided up into groups to sort out these things and Bilbo offered to make an enormous Winterval fruit cake, covered in white icing and decorated in a suitable way.  He refused to divulge his design at that moment so that it would be a surprise on the day.

 

Then they all split up to do their various tasks: Lostwithiel, Arion and Frodo set out into the cold countryside to gather holly and mistletoe branches with which to deck the hall; Poppy started to write the invitations; Beren and Rosie sat in the ballroom making paper lanterns and paper chains, under Mary Sue’s direction, to further decorate the room; Bilbo started on his cake and other delicacies straight away; Thranduil went up to Arion’s house and began to doodle some designs.  “And he won’t be wearing red,” he muttered under his breath.

 

Thorin and Tauriel suddenly found themselves completely alone with nothing to do.   “I suppose I could go out and help with the holly collection,” Thorin said without much conviction.

 

“And I suppose that I could go to the manor and help make decorations,” murmured Tauriel.  “But….actually, I’d rather not,” she grinned slyly.  She came over to where Thorin was sitting and perched on his knee.  There, she bent forward and kissed him just beneath his ear.

 

“I’ve been very good all year,” she whispered huskily.  “Does that mean I deserve a present?”

 

“Liar!” he murmured back.  And he reached behind her neck to pull her down into a passionate embrace.

 

Lostwithiel flung open the door and they sprang apart.  “Come on, Thorin!  We need you and your sledge!” he shouted.  Then he grinned.  “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

Thorin cleared his throat.  “Of course not,” he harrumphed.  “We’re only practising for my part of Grandfather Frost.  Got to get this knee thing right, you know.”

 

“But of course,” Lostwithiel laughed.  “He can give you your present, Tauriel, when he gets back.”  And he held open the door with a knowing smirk on his face.

 

“What did I ever do wrong,” sighed Thorin, shrugging into his coat, “to deserve living out my life surrounded by elves?”

 

“Aw, you love us all really,” grinned his son-in-law, as he ushered him to the barn.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Let it Snow!  Let it Snow!   Let it Snow!

 

The family and their friends got up very early on the day of the party to make sure that everything was ready.  They had been decorating the ballroom for days and now it looked lovely, covered as it was with a mass of green foliage interspersed with holly and mistletoe.  Paper streamers and lanterns were strung across the room and there was a giant fir tree at the end of the hall which almost touched the ceiling.  This was Thorin’s _pièce de résistance_ because the tree was covered in tiny metal candlesticks which he had made in his forge and in each was a pretty white candle.  “It will look so lovely when the candles are lit,” said Tauriel.

 

At the other end, they had a giant stack of logs in the fireplace, ready to go.  “We’d better start the fire now,” thought Poppy, “because it will take some hours before it’s really blazing.”

 

Four long tables, facing each other in a rectangle but leaving a space in the middle, lined the walls.  These could seat ten people each: forty was the number that they thought would be manageable - for this year’s trial run anyway.  Perhaps they would have more the following year.

 

The ladies had been cooking up a storm and they had plenty of cold collations ready to transport to Poppy’s kitchen.  A huge haunch of venison was already roasting there, intended for the main meal.  And Bilbo’s cake was under wraps on the kitchen table, ready to be revealed at an appropriate time.

 

“Looks like snow,” said Tauriel, as she and Thorin shivered their way up the hill to Poppy’s manor house.  And, indeed, just as they reached the front door, the first flakes began to fall.  “Lucky that Thranduil didn’t try to travel today.”   Yes, fortunately, the elven king, together with his wife, Nennia, his daughter, Gilrin, and his daughter’s mother, Idris, had arrived a day early and had stayed the night with Poppy.  Little Gilrin was very, very excited and they had had a difficult time trying to get her to sleep.  But, now they were all up and dressed and were eating a light breakfast at the kitchen table.

 

At Thorin’s entrance, Thranduil got up and edged towards him.  “Meet me in my bedroom,” he whispered conspiratorially.  “I’ve got something to show you.”

 

“Not your etchings, I hope,” muttered Thorin, following him up the stairs.

 

In the guest bedroom, spread out in all its glory on the bed, was Thorin’s costume.

 

“Ta-da!” exclaimed Thranduil, with a dramatic wave of his hand.  “Mary Sue’s been sewing her fingers raw for days now.”

 

“I thought it was supposed to be red,” complained Thorin, still not fully committed to his performance later in the day.

 

“Thorin,” sighed Thranduil.  “You know you have bad taste.  I designed this and I chose the material.  Trust me.”

 

Thorin looked a bit closer and decided that, actually, it was very beautiful – in an elven sort of way.  The material was soft and silky and silvery – “so that it looks like frost,” explained Thranduil – and it was edged and lined with a gorgeous white fur.  Quite sumptuous, thought Thorin.  Good for a snuggle.  I expect that Tauriel will like that. 

 

There was a matching fur-lined cap.  “No silver bell at the end,” grinned the elven king.  “We didn’t think you would appreciate that.  Try it on.”  And he produced some padding for Thorin to attach with a belt.

 

Well, the effect was tremendous, especially after Thorin had also attached a white beard with matching wig.  He preened before the mirror.  “I do look like quite a nice, jolly person, don’t I?” he marvelled.

 

“And there’s a trick, if you can manage it,” agreed Thranduil with a mocking grin.

 

“Listen, _friend_ ,” snarled Thorin, turning on him with an unbecoming glower: “Just shut up!  Or I shall walk out this minute and leave _you_ to do this.”

 

Thranduil blenched at the thought.

 

.o00o.

 

A few hours later and all the guests with the children were gathered together in the kitchen, eating lovely hors d’oeuvres that Bilbo had put together, with the adults drinking a warming mulled wine.  Suddenly, Poppy, who was sitting near the fireplace, jumped to her feet and, with her hand cupped behind her ear, she said dramatically: “Can you hear that?”

 

They all stopped chattering and the children turned with interested looks in her direction.  Then Poppy bent and glanced up the wide chimney and exclaimed: “Oh my goodness!  It’s Grandfather Frost!”

 

Both puzzled and wide-eyed, the children fixed their gaze on the large inglenook.  When a big black boot appeared, they all gasped.  And when the second boot joined the first, they all pressed forward.  Lostwithiel and Beren had attached a ladder to the inside of the chimney and this was making life a bit easier for Thorin.  And, as he crouched and emerged into the room with his bulging sack upon his back and his glittery clothing, he certainly made a magical entrance.  Jaws dropped – even those of many of the adults who had been told nothing about this – and one small child began to cry.

 

Poppy ushered Thorin to a waiting chair and he sat down and glanced merrily around the room.  “Ho, ho, ho!” he exclaimed.  He had been practising all week and his voice came out warm and merry and hearty.  He was relieved when the crying stopped.

 

“What’s in your sack?” asked brave little Gilrin.

 

“Lots and lots of toys for good little children who have behaved themselves all year,” said Grandfather Frost.

 

“I’ve been good,” said Gilrin.  And she pushed forward and spontaneously climbed up onto Thorin’s lap.  “I like your beard,” she said, stroking it admiringly.  And for one dreadful moment, Thorin thought he would be unmasked.  Gilrin was more than happy.  He was a lovely old man with a lovely fur robe and, for some strange reason, she felt as if she had known him forever.  He reached down into his sack and handed her a beautifully wrapped parcel with ‘Gilrin’ written on a tag.  It was even more magical that he knew her name and had come prepared.  As she unwrapped it and sighed with joy at the wooden toy within, all the adults grew misty-eyed.  What a heart-warming idea!

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

Gaudete!

 

The presents had all been distributed from the sack and, with a final ‘ho, ho, ho!’ Grandfather Frost disappeared back up the chimney.  None of the children noticed Thorin slip into the room ten minutes later: they were too busy playing with their new toys.  “You were wonderful,” whispered Tauriel in his ear.  “Born to play the part!”  And Thorin blushed with pleasure.

 

Then everyone took their seats in the ballroom.  An early twilight was descending as black storm clouds dropped huge snowflakes and the great tree at the end of the room glittered with light whilst the roaring log fire burned brightly in the hearth.  Everyone gazed around in delight and wonder.  The venison haunch was cut up on a central podium and bowls of deliciously prepared vegetables were passed around the tables.

 

Then, an hour later, as they all sat back in their chairs, totally replete, Bilbo wheeled in his Winterval cake on a trolley.  Well, perhaps he had room for a bit more, thought Thorin.  As usual, Bilbo’s cake was a thing of beauty and Thorin let out a loud guffaw: because there, made in marzipan and icing on the top of the cake was a chimney and, down the chimney was coming a pair of boots and, sprawling on the hearth was an open sack which had scattered piles of intriguingly wrapped presents all over the floor.  Thorin clapped his hands together and shouted, “Well done, Master Hobbit!” and everyone joined in.

 

And, after the cake eating, and after the children had been taken off to the kitchen to play with their toys, the centre of the room was cleared and there were games, lots of games that Mary Sue introduced for the first time into Valinor.

 

“All right,” she said, marshalling the troops, “I want everyone to divide into two lines.  I want you to stand boy, girl, boy girl, and I want husbands and wives to be in separate lines.”

 

Why?” growled a suspicious Thorin.

 

“Because it’s more fun that way,” was the tart response.

 

Some were more on the alert than others.  For instance, Thranduil quickly stood behind Tauriel and Poppy ran to stand behind the elven king.  Seeing this, two pretty elven ladies immediately sandwiched Thorin between them.

 

Once the two lines had stopped their giggling and fidgeting, Mary Sue stood at their head and handed a small apple to the person at the front of each queue.  “Now,” she said with a grin, “I want you to pass the apple down the line and then back up again and the line that hands me their apple first is the winner.

 

“Easy,” sneered Thranduil.  “Where’s the fun in that?”

 

“Well, the fun comes when I tell you that you can’t use your hands……You hold the apple under your chin and pass it that way.

 

“Ah,” said Thranduil with a gleam in his eye.

 

Those at the front of the line held their apples under their chins in readiness and when Mary Sue yelled the signal, giggling and snorting, they started to pass the apple from chin to chin.  The ladies either side of Thorin enjoyed the tickle of his beard but, much to their disappointment, he didn’t linger but passed it adeptly from one to the other.  This gave him time to watch the competition.  It was like a flash-back to the old days: Thranduil held Tauriel in his arms and was slowly, very slowly, nuzzling her neck and slowly, very slowly, retrieving the apple.  Then, he quickly passed it to Poppy who had also been hoping for a long neck nuzzle.   Lostwithiel, on Thorin’s team, was laughing at his wife.  Why, thought Thorin, isn’t he rolling up his sleeves ready to punch that wretched elf on the nose, just like I’d like to do?

 

Thranduil had taken so long to pass the apple to Tauriel – both times - that Thorin’s team easily won – one compensation, at least.  But, the smirk that the elf gave him across the room was enough to make Thorin’s blood boil.

 

They played more games over the next couple of hours, but, although they were fun, Thorin continued to brood on Thranduil’s arrogance.  Mary Sue had seen what had passed between the two kings and decided to help her father-in-law out.

 

“One more bit of fun,” she cried, “and then I think it will be time for another slice of cake and a glass of mulled wine.  Now, ladies to the right and gentlemen to the left.  Two teams.”

 

When they had divided, she stepped into the middle of the room and placed a plum on the floor.  Then she knelt on the floor, knees together, clasped her hands behind her back and, leaning forward, picked the plum up between her teeth.  “See, easy,” she said as she stood and dropped it back into her hand.  Another plum was placed on the floor.  “Come on, Tauriel,” she grinned.  “Step up for the ladies’ team.  And you’ve got to keep your knees together.”  Tauriel knelt and picked up her plum.  It seemed to require no effort.

 

“Now, Thorin for the gentlemen.”

 

Thorin raised an eyebrow.  He knew Mary Sue.  What was she up to?  But he knelt down, clasped his hands behind his back and picked up the plum.

 

Rosie had a go next.  And then it was Thranduil’s turn.  “Knees together,” said Mary Sue, grinning.

 

Thranduil knelt elegantly on the floor with his knees together and his hands behind his back.  Then he bent gracefully forward………And then he lost his balance and sprawled forward, flat on his face.  The whole room erupted into loud, delighted laughter.  Thranduil scrambled to his feet with a surprised expression on his face.  Then he had another go…..and exactly the same thing happened.  Angrily, he got to his feet and faced Mary Sue.  “It’s a trick,” he snapped.  “Why could you and Tauriel and Rosie and Thorin do it, but I couldn’t?  Have you been practising?”

 

“No trick and no practice,” she laughed.  “If I ask any woman in the room, she’ll be able to do it.  And Thorin can do it too – because he’s a dwarf.  But every male elf will fall flat on his face, just like you did.  The ladies win.”

 

“Why?” asked the elven king sullenly. 

 

“Because women - and dwarves - have different centres of gravity.  You guys are just too tall and narrow in the hips.”

 

Everyone laughed and clapped and everyone wanted a go.  Soon, the whole room was full of elf lords sprawled on the floor whilst their wives stood next to them with their plums held triumphantly between their teeth.  Even Thranduil had to laugh.

 

Thorin sat in a corner with a grin on his face.  He felt better now.  And he felt better still after a glass of wine and another slice of cake.

 

.o00o.

 

Tauriel and Thorin trudged slowly through the snow, back to the forge, their arms around each other.  It had been a lovely day and now it was a beautiful night.  The snow had stopped falling and the stars glittered in a cloudless sky upon the white landscape.  They had damped down the fire before they went out and it was still faintly glowing as they entered their home.  Thorin carefully built it up again and Tauriel came and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he crouched on the hearth.

 

“I’m still waiting for my present,” she said softly.

 

He turned his head and looked up at her, his eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.  She saw the gleam of his white teeth.  “I think I left it in the bedroom,” he said softly.

 

.o00o.

 

( _Tauriel slowly closed the lap-top.  “Actually,” she said, “I think that was a special Winterval present from this naughty machine to make up for all the things it has put us through these past few years._

_Thorin leaned over and kissed her on the throat.  “And a present like that, I reckon, has just about made everything worth it.  Happy Winterval, my love.”_ )

 

.o00o.

 

**And a Very Happy Christmas to my readers!**

**Gaudete!  (Check that out on YT.  It’s by Steeleye Span.)**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 


	74. Thorin and the Heatwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my first new Thorin and Tauriel story in a long time and was prompted by a reader asking if I was going to write any more. Valinor is experiencing a heatwave and Tauriel tells Thorin to do something about it. Thorin is more than willing because the heat means that his sex life is non existent. He and his daughter-in-law, Mary Sue, come up with a novel plan to get cool down on the beach. Hope you enjoy it.

**Scratching my head for a story - the first in 2/3 years - I suddenly remembered a suggested story-line from someone who visits these pages - dearreader, I think - put forward ages ago, which made me sit down and try to make something of it.  This is a standalone story and I think you can understand it without reading the 70+ stories that come before it.  But, here's a summary in case you need one - because it's been a long time........ After years of bringing up a family in Middle-earth, the Oakenshields have managed to board ships to The Undying Lands/Valinor.  There Thorin struggles to make himself acceptable to the elves and even the arrogant Thranduil has become his ‘best friend’.  But, the author has run out of ideas and now they must write their own stories on a lap-top if they want their lives to continue.  How will they cope with an enervating heatwave which is making everyone grumpy and dysfunctional?  Perhaps Thorin can write a story on the lap-top that makes their miserable lives happy!**

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and the Heatwave

 

Pt I

 

Thorin began to surface from a rather restless night when the dawn finally came in.  As he normally did, he edged towards Tauriel, who seemed to have disappeared off towards the far side of the mattress, and slid his arm around her waist.

 

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed.  And she moved away from under his hand.

 

Sleepily undaunted, the dwarf tucked himself into his wife’s back and ran his strong fingers up her thigh.  But, she shook him off again.

 

“I told you not to touch me,” she snapped bad-temperedly.  “It’s much too hot and I’ve hardly slept all night!”

 

Well, this was true, he supposed, and he fell back with a frustrated sigh.  They had been enduring weeks of blazing hot summer days and stifling nights and all anyone wanted was for the weather to break.  Here, in the Undying Lands, the residents felt as if they were dying of heat exhaustion.

 

In desperation, the dwarven king and his elven wife had been driven to take time out in their ice house which had offered some relief.  But, the frequent opening and closing of the door had meant that the ice had begun to melt.  In the end, Tauriel had shut the door firmly and said that no-one was to open it again until the weather changed, otherwise all her carefully stored food would be destroyed.

 

Thorin sat up groggily against the pillows.  “Let’s go down to the beach for a swim,” he suggested.  “That should help a bit.”

 

“Waste of effort,” muttered the elf, pushing back her long hair which was sticking to her forehead.  “By the time we walk back up the hill again, we’ll be hotter than when we set out.  And, besides, the sea is too rough at the moment and I’m not as good a swimmer as you.”

 

Making a huge effort because he felt so sapped of energy, Thorin rolled out of bed and headed for the kitchen.  “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” he said.  “And then I’m going to get out the lap-top and write a story where I find a way for us all to keep cool.”

 

“Good idea,” she said tiredly.  “If you manage that, you’ll be the hero of the hour.”

 

.o00o.

 

Actually, thought Thorin, as he pulled the lap-top towards him, he wasn’t being heroic but selfish.  For weeks now, Tauriel had held him at a distance and he was desperate for a bit of you-know.  If he could put up with a little discomfort then why couldn’t she, he thought grumpily.  And he glowered into his beard as he mentally calculated the number of endless nights that he had gone without.

 

He thought about a title for a moment and then tried to type it in.  But, for some reason, the contrary lap-top refused to accept  _Thorin Gets Lots of Sex_  and replaced it with:

 

Thorin and the Heatwave

 

( _Tauriel drifted in languidly with her empty tea cup and peered over his shoulder.   “Well, that doesn’t exactly give anything away, does it?” she said. “But, don’t hang about because I don’t think I can stand this much longer.  Get typing.”_ )

 

Tauriel was so hot that she began to wish that she had gone down to the beach with Thorin after all.  He had returned in a much better mood, accompanied by Mary Sue, and then they had disappeared into the forge together ‘to make some stuff’.  Her daughter-in-law was very artistic and she often worked on jewellery with Thorin in his forge, just like the lovely Rose, their adopted daughter, had done back on Middle-earth.  But, today, Mary Sue had added, “We’re making some wooden stuff.  Don’t ask: it’s a secret.”  And she had given Tauriel a wide, mysterious grin.

 

Well, they had certainly made a racket for hours out there: lots of sawing and banging followed by the ‘whoosh’ of the lathe.  But, now, it had fallen silent.  Tauriel was dying to know what they were up to and so she made a pot of tea, piled some cakes upon a plate and carried them to the forge as an excuse to peek inside.  She raised a hand to knock; but then she stopped and pressed her ear to the door.  Suddenly, she felt sick.

 

She could hear Thorin panting and gasping as if he were really out of breath.  Then Mary Sue growled (yes, growled!) at him: “Come on, Thorin!  Where’s your dwarven stamina?  Surely you can do it one more time?”  Then, in wheedling tones: “Just for me?”

 

Then Thorin, still rather breathlessly: “All right.  Just one more time.  But, look, it’s really hard.”

 

A giggle from Mary Sue.  Then: “Right, get down there on the floor.  Crouch.  That’s great.  That’s really great!  Oh, Thorin, you’re a star!  And……Go!  No, try again.  Faster!  Faster!  You’ll never get it right if you don’t do it faster, for goodness’ sake!  Kneel!  Kneel!  Good boy!  Fantastic!  And…..Jump!”

 

There was a sudden crash; Thorin gave an ‘Oof!’ and Mary Sue screeched with laughter.

 

Tauriel burst into the room, only to find, to her horror, her husband and daughter-in-law rolling on the floor in a tangle of limbs.  And, what was worse, Mary Sue was skimpily dressed in the sort of pretty underwear she had introduced into Valinor from her own world while Thorin only had on some sort of barely-there loin-cloth.

 

Tauriel stood in the entrance, her mouth open in shock.  Mary Sue looked guilty and grabbed a towel which she slung around herself – as well she might.  And Thorin turned a beetroot red, right from the tip of his ears, all the way down his throat and across his (naked) chest.  Tauriel was very observant when it came to her husband.

 

“I have an explanation,” gasped Thorin, scrabbling to his feet.

 

“And it had better be a good one!” snapped his wife, turning on her heel and stomping back to the house.  The guilty pair looked at each other and then hurried after her.

 

They found the elf sitting on the sofa with her arms folded across her chest.  “Well?” she said.

 

Mary Sue sat down opposite her, trying not to laugh.  The cheeky madam, thought Tauriel.

 

Thorin stood between them, fidgeting on the spot.  “I suppose I’ll have to start from the beginning,” he muttered.

 

“I suppose you better had,” was the curt response.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

It had all started when Thorin had gone down to the beach on his own for a swim.  The day was the hottest it had been so far that summer and he was desperate to cool off.  Tauriel remained grumpily behind.  Well, she was missing something because there was a light, onshore breeze blowing across the white, sandy dunes beyond the harbour wall and it felt better down here by the sea even before he entered the water.  But, as she had predicted, swimming wasn’t much fun because large rollers pounded on the shore and it felt quite dangerous even though he was a good swimmer.  He swam in his ‘swimming pants’ which were quite modest shorts, so long in the leg and baggy that Mary Sue had laughed when Thorin and his son - her husband, Arion - had first appeared wearing them.  “Not exactly sexy,” she had said.  And she had promised to design something more attractive, in the style of the swimming outfits from her own world.

 

He hadn’t lasted long but had come out of the water to relax on the beach, under the pine trees.  As he gazed desultorily out to sea, towards Middle-earth, thinking of everything he had left behind, he vaguely noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a sea-bird floating some distance from the shore.  Then he saw an especially large roller heading towards it and he stood up, expecting to see the bird crushed by the wave.  Instead, the wave lifted it and carried it gracefully to the shallows.

 

Thorin stood there thoughtfully for a moment.  He had probably seen similar moments at other times but had just not registered how interesting this was.  Then he picked up a piece of driftwood lying on the shore – a three foot plank – and swam with it into the sea until he was some distance out.  There, he hoisted himself gently up and onto the plank where he waited, stretched out flat, for the next big wave.

 

Much to his glee, the surge carried him and his plank to the beach, just like the seabird.  The ride was quite exhilarating but, when he reached the shallows, he was dumped head first into the turbulent foam.  He emerged, coughing and spluttering, only to find Mary Sue sitting on the sand and laughing at him.

 

“I’m sure you can do better than that,” she said.  “How about trying it standing up?”

 

“You’re joking,” he snorted.

 

“Nope,” she replied.  “It’s a popular sport in my own world and I got quite good at it.”

 

She picked up and examined the plank of wood.

 

“It’s the wrong shape,” she mused, “but it might work.”  And he watched as she stripped off her clothes down to her underwear and waded into the rough seas with the plank under her arm.

 

He stared in amazement as she stood up and rode the wave.  Then she dismounted elegantly without actually drowning herself in the process.

 

Thorin whooped and applauded and insisted on having a go but, of course, he was an absolute failure.  “You’ve got to teach me,” he said excitedly to Mary Sue, his eyes shining with the thrill of it all.

 

“‘Surfin’ Thorin’” she laughed.  “I suppose you’ll be wanting me to organise a beach party next.”

 

“A beach party!” exclaimed Thorin.  “Now, there’s a good idea!  And, by the way, what does “surfin’” mean?”

 

Mary Sue took some time carefully explaining what surfing was all about and described in detail the shape of a surf board.  By the end, Thorin was all fired up.  “I’ll make a load of surf boards as a surprise for this beach party,” he said.  “You can then give us all lessons.”

 

“And, like I promised you some time ago, I’ve already started making swim wear for people,” she added, becoming equally excited.  “I’ll make some more and then everyone will be fully equipped for the party.”

 

They walked back up the hill, chatting animatedly together and, after stopping off at Mary Sue’s house to pick up a couple of the swimming outfits she had been working on, they set out for the forge to make a start on the surf boards and on ‘dry land’ lessons for Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

“And that,” sighed Thorin, “is what you could hear us getting up to through the door of the forge: surfing lessons.”

 

Tauriel glared at him for a moment.  Then she stood up and snapped: “For goodness’ sake, Thorin! Cover yourself!”  And then she marched out the front door.

 

Thorin ran after her and called, as she disappeared off down the lane: “Er, where are you going, my love?”

 

Tauriel paused and rolled her eyes.  “To ask Poppy to create some beach party invitations, of course!  Where did you think I was going?”

 

Thorin looked over his shoulder at Mary Sue and grinned.  “Better get sewing,” he said.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

No-one except Thorin, Tauriel and Mary Sue knew about the surfing lessons or the swim wear: the denizens of Valinor were merely sent invitations to join the Oakenshields at a beach party where they could camp overnight for a few days, by which time, the weather might have broken.

 

Just about everyone responded positively, except that Idris and Nennia, Thranduil’s wife, who weren’t that keen on swimming, decided to stay behind to look after little Gilrin.  Thranduil didn’t mind going on his own.  After all, it gave him the opportunity to have a good time with his ‘best friend’, Thorin, and the rest of the Oakenshield family.

 

“Oh, drat!” muttered Thorin, looking at Thranduil’s RSVP.  “He’s coming on his own.  I suppose that means I shall have him under my feet all day.”

 

Tauriel laughed and kissed the end of her husband’s nose.  “Come on,” she said.  “You know you love him really.”

 

“Really?” grunted the dwarf.  And he stomped away to the forge in a bad mood, there to wax a few more surf boards.  At least these were going to plan.

 

.o00o.

 

The day of the beach party dawned bright and fair and the three conspirators were down on the beach early, before anyone else, so that they could prepare for their various surprises.  All those who had been invited were expected to bring wine and food with them: fruit and cakes and pies plus sausages, fish and meat, the latter to be cooked on open fires – or barbecues, as Mary Sue called them.  The trio had loaded up a wagon with the surf boards, the special swim wear and various meats, packed around with some of the precious ice from the ice house.  And, by the time that people began to arrive, they felt ready and organised.

 

The rest of the Oakenshield family were there, completely in ignorance of what their parents and partners were about to get up to.  Ellandel, the administrator, and all the drama group had turned up together in an excited gaggle, along with the elves from the tree houses below Thorin’s forge, Tauriel’s old troop from Middle-earth and both the bucketball teams.   Thranduil came sauntering down to the beach, having left his horse in the harbour stables, whilst Legolas and Gimli trundled in his wake.  And…….. ”Gandalf!” exclaimed Tauriel.  “We’re really glad you’ve come!”

 

Frodo and Bilbo were the last to arrive, staggering, as they were, under the weight of food they had brought with them.  “We’ve got enough for second breakfasts for everyone tomorrow,” Bilbo grinned.

 

And now that everyone had arrived, Mary Sue, Thorin and Tauriel disappeared off behind the trees where they had secreted their surprises whilst everyone chatted amiably on the sands and commented on the breeze that made the harbour area so much cooler.

 

Suddenly, their attention was caught as Poppy slapped her hand to her mouth and screamed, “Mother!” followed closely by a screeched, “Father!”

 

Everyone’s eyes swivelled towards the trees and jaws dropped.  Even Thranduil’s eyes were out on (appreciative) stalks.  Lostwithiel broke the stunned silence when he slapped his thigh and roared with laughter.

 

Hand in hand, Thorin and Tauriel walked down the beach towards their guests.  Thorin was wearing an extraordinarily brief loincloth and quite a few of the ladies sighed to see so much muscular flesh exposed.  And Tauriel was wearing what appeared to be the sort of underwear designed by Mary Sue which had become a popular buy at her weekly market stall.  But, for goodness’ sake!  That sort of clothing was meant for their husbands’ eyes only!  And now, there she was, the brazen hussy, in an incredibly skimpy version, made from a bright floral material.  And, to make matters worse (or better, Thranduil was thinking), the top section was so designed that it gave a terrific upward thrust to her breasts.  Poppy almost ran forward to cover up her mother with a towel.  Had she no shame?!

 

“Oh, come on,” laughed Lostwithiel, seeing his wife’s blushes.  “Don’t be such a hypocrite.  It’s you who draws all those racy front covers for my Toren and Tourelle novels for the delectation of the whole of Valinor.  And the images are based on your parents.  In fact, this inspires me to write another book.”  And he laughed gleefully again.  “So, what’s this all about, you two?” he asked, turning to the nearly naked pair.

 

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” grinned Thorin.  And he made a dramatic gesture back towards the trees.  A further gasp ran through the crowd as Mary Sue appeared in a similar set of underwear with a strange piece of brightly painted wood under her arm.  Arion stepped forward angrily.  How embarrassing was she being!  But, Lostwithiel grabbed his arm.  “Let’s wait to hear what she has to say,” he said in an amused whisper.

 

Then, Mary Sue posed with her board propped up in the sand.  “What I’m wearing isn’t under-clothing but the sort of swimming costume that we wear in my world.  And this,” she continued, gesturing to the piece of wood, “is a surf board which we use for riding the waves of the sea.”

 

“How about a demonstration?” demanded ‘Thiel. 

 

And the crowd, recovering from their shock and now absolutely intrigued began to clap their hands and chant: “Demonstration!   Demonstration!  Demonstration!”

 

With a wink at Thorin and Tauriel, Mary Sue sauntered off down the beach with her surf board and plunged into the sea with it.  When she stood up on the board, they all gasped; and, when she rode a huge roller gracefully to the shore, everyone applauded in amazement.

 

“I want to try that!” yelled Rosie.

 

“Me too!” shouted a lot of the younger elves.

 

“Well, fortunately,” grinned Thorin, “we have stowed behind the trees a large number of surf boards which I have been making this past week and a whole stack of swim wear, sewn, just for you, by the lovely Mary Sue.”  And he took her hand courteously and led her back up the beach to a round of enthusiastic applause.

 

There was a mad dash for the trees by a goodly number of them.  But Gandalf gave Tauriel a wry raise of his eyebrow.  “I don’t think, my dear, that anyone wants to see a scrawny old man in a loin cloth.”

 

“Aha!” replied Tauriel conspiratorially.  “I thought of that.”  And she whipped out from a box a lovely, gaudy, short-sleeved shirt and an equally gaudy pair of shorts.

 

“Just the ticket,” laughed Gandalf.

 

 Soon, everyone emerged, some blushing coyly, from the shade.

 

“You all look amazing!” Tauriel encouraged.  And, indeed they did.  The elves, in all their lithe beauty, absolutely suited the skimpy swim wear.  And, Thranduil, knowing this would be so, had been among the first to leap behind the bushes and into a loin cloth.  Now, he swaggered confidently towards Tauriel and Thorin knowing absolutely that he looked quite stunning.

 

“Look what you missed out on,” he said with a satirical leer at Tauriel, “when you married Thorin.”

 

“Not a lot,” she laughed back, slipping an arm around Thorin’s waist.

 

“Play nice,” grunted Thorin, a bit irritably to his best friend, “or Mary Sue won’t show you how to do it.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think I need lessons,” was the arrogant response.

 

“Oh, but I think you do,” said Mary Sue, coming up behind him.  “Even Thorin has been having lessons all week.”

 

Thranduil looked at Thorin, then at the sea, then at his board.

 

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully.  “I can imagine that Thorin will be better at this than me.”

 

Thorin was quite touched.  An unsolicited compliment from Thranduil.  He didn’t think he had had one of those before.

 

But, then, the elven king went and spoiled it all by saying: “You know: short and squat, with a lower centre of gravity.  Just like with that game we played at the Winter Festival.”

 

“You mean,” snarled Thorin between gritted teeth, “that game where you fell flat on your face?”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

The athletic elves, so graceful and light on their feet as they were, soon picked up the idea after a few lessons on the beach. Gimli and the hobbits had a bit more trouble and Thorin was glad he had been practising all week so that he could, indeed, out-surf Thranduil.

 

They spent hours having a huge amount of fun in the waves all morning whilst Gandalf sat on the beach under a shade that they had erected for him, looking really good in his gaudy glad-rags, sipping some of Gimli’s cold beer that had been pulled from an ice box and applauding the more adventurous rides.

 

Then, they all stopped for a rest and some lunch before they re-entered the surf once more.  The day was spectacularly successful and, later on, the hobbits came out of the water in order to ‘barbecue’ (as Mary Sue would have it) an evening meal.  What a wonderful time everyone had had!  And, after a bit of a sing-song around the camp fires, they all began to drift off to find secluded places behind the dunes where they could sleep.

 

Thorin and Tauriel settled on a nice, private spot and, because the area seemed so deserted, they stripped off their clothes and climbed, giggling, into their bed roll. 

 

At last, thought Thorin, as he clasped his wife in his arms.  “This reminds me of our second honeymoon,” he whispered.  “Do you remember?”

 

“Of course I do,” she murmured in response.  And her husband pulled her to him in a passionate kiss.

 

“Thorin,” said Thranduil’s voice behind him.  “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

The couple jerked apart and Thorin turned angrily around to see the elven king standing there, still in his loin cloth but with his bed roll under one arm.

 

“Of course you’re interrupting,” he snarled.  “What do you want at this time of night?”

 

“Well, you see,” he sighed, in quite a sad little voice for one so arrogant, “everyone else has paired off and I came to the party on my own, you know……..”  (said, as if this was all Thorin’s fault).

 

“No,” said Thorin.

 

“And I began to feel really lonely…….”

 

“No,” said Thorin.

 

“And I remembered that camping trip we went on together……”

 

“No,” said Thorin.

 

“And all the fun we had together – the fishing, the white water thingy, the bungee jump….”

 

“No.”

 

“And how, on that last night, we sat up talking together after all the others had gone to sleep….”

 

“No!”

 

“We felt so close to each other….”

 

“Did we?”

 

“So, I thought you wouldn’t mind if I just spread out my bedroll here, like I did before….”

 

“How many more times?  No!”

 

Thranduil stood there looking crestfallen and then he turned sadly away.  Tauriel, the soft touch, was the first to weaken. 

 

“Thorin,” she hissed.  “He’s your best friend.”

 

The dwarf sighed.

 

“All right, Thranduil,” he called to the slowly retreating figure.

 

With lightning speed, the elf was back, quickly spreading out his bedroll only a couple of feet away from Thorin.  He climbed in and then, bright-eyed in the dark, he whispered: “What shall we talk about?”

 

“Nothing,” said Thorin, turning his back on him.

 

Well, that was the end of their bit of you-know and it took the dwarf ages to go to sleep, especially when Thranduil started to snore.  But, finally, he drifted off.

 

It must have been the middle of the night when he woke up again.  The night had, surprisingly, become quite cold but there was a nice, warm body pressing into his back.  It took Thorin a few moments to register that Thranduil had shuffled across the small gap that had separated them and was now snuggling into him, breathing heavily into his neck.  Thorin tried to shrug him off but the elf’s arm tightened around his waist and he whimpered a little in his sleep.

 

Thorin gave up, closed his eyes and nodded off again.  By morning, the elven king was a respectable distance away once more.  But, then, he stirred, his eyes fluttered open and he leapt to his feet.

 

“Come on, you two slug-a-beds!” he exclaimed, giving the dwarf a kick with his foot.  “Let’s get surfing!”

 

 

Thorin groaned and just wanted to disappear under his coverlet.

 

 

.o00o.

 

But, by the time that everyone had reassembled on the beach where the two hobbits were cooking breakfast, the first drops of rain had begun to fall.  At first, it was such a relief that everyone danced around as it fell harder and harder and enjoyed the soaking.  But, it finally got to a point when it was lashing down and wasn’t much fun any more.

 

The beach party stood there soaked and cold and bedraggled.

 

“Time to go home, I think,” grinned Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

_(“Oh, Thorin!  My hero,” sighed Tauriel, putting her arm around her husband’s neck as he closed the lap-top.  “Thank goodness it’s cooler now.  And all that surfing was so much fun.  I suppose it will rain for days and everyone will be staring out their windows and grumbling and just waiting for it to stop so that we can all go back down to the beach again.  Some people are never satisfied.”_

_“I can perfectly understand that,” murmured Thorin softly, pulling his wife down upon his lap.  “I, for one, am never satisfied.  But….I live in hope.”  And he slid a big hand behind her neck and gave her a long and tender kiss.)_

.o00o.

 

**I really enjoyed being back with our lovely Thorin and Tauriel and I hope that you did too. A big thank you to dearreader who gave me inspiration for this one.**

**Episodes referred to in this story, in case you want to remind yourselves are:**

**_What the…..?!_  where Mary Sue arrives from another world.**

**_Thorin’s Second Honeymoon_  where T&T have a good time in the sand dunes.**

**_Thorin and the Surprise_  where Thorin builds an ice house for Tauriel and nearly gets himself killed in the process.**

**_Thorin and the Mancation_  where Thorin takes Thranduil on a camping trip and they do some bonding.**

**_Thorin and the Market Stall_  where Mary Sue and Tauriel make some sexy underwear and Lostwithiel writes some salacious bodice-rippers as their contributions to the family’s market stall.**

**_Thorin Discovers Xmas_  where a big party is held, games are played and Thranduil, unexpectedly, doesn’t always win.**

.o00o.

 

 

 

 


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